The broken shaft. Tales in mid-ocean

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\^5 ^

roken Shafi

Tales in Mid-Ocean^

TOLD BY

F, Marion Crawfordy

^. Louis Sievenson, /

F. Anste^y

W. H. Fbilock,

AND OTHERS WVWl. AtCnCT ^

Nciv Vmk: D. JpfiiiMi^O&b^^., Publiskei

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THE

BEOKEN SHAFT.

TALES nsr MID-OOEAir.

^ EDITED BY

5^^ HENRY NORMAN^^/

" Whimsies of wantons and stories of dread,
To make the stout-hearted look under the bed.^^

LAin>0B.

NEW YORK:
D. APPLETON AND COMPANY,

1, 8, AXD 5 BOND STBEET.
1886.

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V

COPTUOBT, 188B,

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I-"

CONTENTS.

ABTICLB.

AUTHOB.

PASS

On BoAkD THE Batabxa

The Editor ....

5

The Uppsb Berth

. ^F. Marum Crawford . *.

. 17

Mabkheim

. ^ Bobert LouU Stevmaon

62

Marjory

. V/f. Afuttey ....

. 81

The Action to the Word

Walter Herriei JPdUock

. 116

My FASCiNATiNa Friend

. V WUliam Archer .

132

Rn.EY, M. P. .

JlgJie EopUw .

157

LOTE AND LiGHTNINQ .

Henry Norman . . . .

186

ivil43604

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ON BOAED THE "BAVAEIA."

Br THE EDITOIL

The good ship Bavaria ky at anchor in Queenstown
Harbor waiting for tlie mails, and only tlie little cloud
of white steam curling from her escape-pipe gave sign
of the huge forces hidden beneath her placid exterior.
Her decks were almost deserted, for her passengers had
yielded as usual to that ridiculous fascination of a few
more hours on land, which forms apparently the staple
industry of the city of Queenstown, and is probably re-
sponsible for more sea-sickness than all other causes put
together. But the Eminent Tragedian was far too wary
to leave the ship at the one moment of the whole fort-
night when her decks were reasonably still, and as he
leaned over the rail of the upper deck and watched
the little waves lapping musically round the black
sides of the great Liner, he was almost the only figure
visible. He took off his eye-glasses, wiped them, and
replaced them with admirable accuracy. He removed
his peaked cap for a moment, and ran his long, grace-
ful fingers through his hair. He drew a dainty ciga-
rette-case from his pocket, lighted a cigarette, and,

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thrnsting his hands deep into the pockets of his thick
pea-jacket, he wedged himself comfortably between the
life-boat and the rail, and gave himself up to general re-
flections, which doubtless proved as pleasing to him as
they must to any man who neither remembers nor con-
templates anything but success.

So comfortable did he find himself in his new comer,
and so entertaining or profitable did his meditations
prove, that he was not a little displeased to notice some
footsteps passing beneath him on the lower deck, and
turning toward the companion-ladder. A moment later
a pleasant baritone voice broke out carelessly with Lov-
er's old song, suggested naturally by the last glimpse of

Erin —

What will you do, love, when I am going,
With white sails flowing, the seas beyond ?

and the Eminent Tragedian had hardly time to discover
whether he was more pleased by the voice or amused by
the words, before the head of the singer appeared above
the deck. It was that of a young man of perhaps thirty,
with rather long, fair hair, and a slight, drooping mus-
tache. He mounted the ladder with quick steps, still
happily singing, and had just got to the second verse —

What wonld you do, love, when home returning,
With hopes high burning, with wealth for you —

when his eye fell on the Eminent Tragedian wedged in
the corner. He stopped short, and seemed for a monaent

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OJiT BOAEI> TEE ''BAVABIA:' 7

on the point of sliding down the ladder out of sight ; for
thej had met often before, but always as Critic uid criti-
cised, with the deceitful glare of the footlights between
them. His embarrassment, however, passed away as
quickly as it had come, and, stepping upon th^ deck,
with the ease of a well-traveled man, he lifted his hat to
the Eminent Tragedian, whom, although he had never
met before, he felt instantly that it would be both absurd
and unmannerly for him to pretend not to know, and
expressed formally but deferentially his pleasure at this
unlooked-for meeting* The Eminent Tragedian, who
had felt a greater embarrassment, though he had showed
none, was still more courteous, as became his more dis-
tinguished position, in reciprocating these expressions,
and added, with more than enough politeness to cover
the sarcasm, ^'I venture to anticipate, sir, much profit
from this meeting.'^ There waa an awkward pause, and
both men looked up at the rigging. The younger man
lowered his eyes after a moment, to find the other one's
gaze fixed npon him with an amused expression, and the
first signs of a smile hovering about his lips. Their eyes
met, and, as if by some pre-established harmony of hu-
mor, they burst simultaneously into a hearty laugh.
"My dear fellow," exclaimed the Tragedian, extendmg
his hand cordially, " I am really delighted to make your
acquaintance ; I dare say I shall learn something from
meeting you, and who knows but you may unlearn some-
thing from knowing me. "Won't you finish that song ? '*

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8 ON BOARD TSB '' BAYARIA:'

Under the circumstances hardly any request could have
been refused ; but the conversation was interrupted by a
shriek from the whistle of the tug-boat bringing the re-
turning passengers and the mails from Queenstown,
which had drawn almost alongside unnoticed.

The two men leaned upon the rail side by side, and
scrutinized their approaching fellow-travelers for some
minutes in silence. "We shall be a small party," re-
marked the Eminent Tragedian at length. " I have two
old friends among them, but the rest are strangers to me.
Who, for instance, is that big, athletic-looking fellow
with the deep-set eyes and short brown beard ? A
Frenchman, evidently.'^ " No more a Frenchman," re-
plied the Ciritic, " than an American, or an Italian, or,
for the matter of that, a Hindoo. He is the Novelist,
you know, who began with the story of Allahabad, and
went from there to Rome, and then to Boston, and now
I believe he has just done with Persia. An extraordi-
nary fellow, so I've been told — began by trudging on
foot through all the dangerous districts of Italy disguised
as a peasant, with a knife in his boot, and picking up the
dialects as he passed along. Then he edited a newspa-
per in India, and learned Hindustani and magic. A man
with half a dozen mother-tongues, who was just about to
settle down in life as a professor of classical philology,
when he discovered that fiction was his strong point. I
don't know him myself, but we have a common friend
on board — ^that dark fellow in the long yellow ulster, on

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ON BOARD THE '' BAYAEIAr 9

the paddle-box, rolling a cigarette — and he has told me
all about him. They were both special correspondents
bound for the same part of the world, and thej met at
Kiaganu They went together to see the Falls by moon-
light, and climbed out on to a big bowlder overhanging
the edge of the Horseshoe FalL Fascinated by the
moonlight and the marvelous lunar bow, they sat there
for an hour or two in the roar of the cataract, till at last
my friend dropped ofi to sleep, and was quietly slipping
over the edge of the rocl^ when the Novelist yonder
happened to look round just in time to catch him by the
collar.''

"Dear me," said the Tragedian; "how interesting!
We must make him tell us some of his stories. Ah,
there's my old friend the Editor — ^that tall, fair man, v
with the pointed beard. You know him t " " By name,
well," replied the other, " not otherwise." " Then I
envy you the pleasure in store. A fine fellow : yes,
*fine' is exactly the word that describes him — a man
with a mind as bright and supple as his own rapier";
and the Tragedian made a gesture with a quick turn
of the wrist that recalled HarrdePB palpable hit. " Now,
there's an interesting figure — that tall, bent man with
the long dark hair and pale face, coming out of the
cabin, wrapped up as if we were in the Arctic Circle.
I wonder who he is."

"I know him," replied the Critic instantly. "He is
a living mptery of literature. An invalid himself, he

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10 OK BOARD TBE ''BA7ARIA:'

prodaces book after book filled with the very spirit of
health) books which give you the physical tonic of a
gallop across the fields in the morning, and thrill you
like a plunge in the deep sea. The first prose-writer
of our time — ^I don't quite mean that, of course, but
certainly the first Bomancer. Nobody else can throw
such a halo of interesting personality round a poor little
she-donkey, or make a child's toy-boat with its penny
cannon in the bow so significant and pathetic an em-
blem of the most touching aspect of human life, or
take the absurdly impossible and transmute it by his
imagination into something so real that, as soon as any
one has read it, it passes into an episode of his own
Kfe."

And so they chatted pleasantly, the Eminent Trage^
dian and his Critic, discussing their fellow-passengers,
while the great brown sacks of letters were carried on
board one by one on the backs of hurrying sailors.
Some of the travelers were friends and ^ some were
strangers, some were famous and some were unknown.
Last of all came an elastic figure over the swinging
gangway and along the deck, with a buoyant step and
a breezy laugh. The winds snatched the yellow locks
from under her navy-blue cap, and the trim pilot-jacket
with brass buttons gave a bewildering nautical air to
the form which is associated in every one's mind with
Portia and OjpheUa and, sweetest of all, with Beatrice.
Nothing she wore comes within the limits of intelli*

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Oir BOARD THE ''BAVARIAN 11

gible description. Her drapery was a law unto itself,
,60 fearfully and wonderfully was it made, but woe to
the woman who should imagine that she could wear
similar raiment with the same irredstible grace. Kor
did this wonderful figure advance like an ordinary mor-
tal. Whether it was a walk, or a slide, or an undula-
tion, or a kind of swimming, nobody could determine
— certainly not the taciturn old Captain, who gazed and
gazed, and at last fervently murmured, "Bless my soul 1"
as he turned to give the order which swung the head of
the Bwoaria round toward the red west, and sent her
plowing thrQugh the great waters to the New World.

.Four days later it was again evening, and^ the deep
glow, of an ocean sunset was pouring in obliquely
through the open port-holes in the saloon of the Ba-
va/ria. It was reflected backward and forward in broad
beams from the great mirrors, and it sparkled in points
of gold on the glass and silver hanging over the heads
of the passengers as they sat at dinner. At the head
of the table, on the port side of the vessel, sat the Cax>-
tain, at his right hand Beatricey and at his left the
Eminent Tragedian. Near them were the Editor, the
Novelist, the Eomancer, the Critic, and half a dozen
other congenial spirits whom Providence, in the shape of
the Purser, had brought together for company. They
knew one another well by this time, and all the old
sea- jokes went round, and many a new arid merry story

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12 our BOARD THE ''BAVAEIA.''

and good thrust. Bat as all roads lead to Borne, so all
conversations on ^ipboard have one conclusion. What-
ever beginning a conversation may have — ^personal, me-
teorological, anecdotal, gastronomic — ^it always ends ia
an interchange of ideas on the probable date of arrival in
port, and this momentous subject was regularly reached
by the party on the Bavaria each day with the dessert.
" For myself,'' the Novelist was saying, " I should wel-
come delay ; these are full days for me," and he made a
note on his cuff. "'Tis time elaborately thrown away,'^
said the Critic. " I have often noticed," remarked the
Eomancer, "that the farther one is from land, the
nearer one is to one's fellows. Far be the land from
us— procul jprqfani / " " Don't I " exclaimed Beatrice ;
" it sounds like a spell. I'm horribly superstitious, and
when Fido barks in his sleep I always know some-
thing unpleasant is going to happen." "*I1 faut avoir
sa malle pr^te,' " quoted the Editor. " * I have great
comfort from this fellow,' " said the Eminent Tragedian,
lifting his glass politely to the Captain, with a calm as-
surance that there was no danger of the weather-beaten
seaman being able to finish the quotation. " ^Methinks
he hath no drowning mark upon him.'" "Oh, don't,
don't ; I will leave the table 1 " cried Beatrice. " Four
days from now," interposed the Captain with authority,
" we shall be off the Hook, and next morning you will
be seeing one of the prettiest sights of your life —
an early morning sail up New York Harbor. I know

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ON BOARD THE \B4rABIAy IS

nothing like it — except the grimy wharf at Dverpool
-when the wife and bairns are watching for me. Four
days from to-morrow morning — ^tliat is/^ he added, for,
like all sailors, he could not resist his gniesome joke,
" unless Davy Jones himself — ''

Nobody ever knew exactly how it happened. The
Captain was half-way up the companion-way, and the
Tragedian was picking a champagne bottle out of JSec^
triceps lap, before they realized that anything had oc-
curred. Afterward they understood it all: how the
Captain's words had been cut short hj a tremendous jar
which upset everything on the table, and sent the plates
and wineglasses spinning about in all directions, and
brought down the cruets with a crash from the hooks
overhead ; how the Captain had dropped his knife and
fork, and was almost on deck before they knew he had
gone, and how there had come a great deafening blow,
shaking the whole ship from stem to stem, then a mo-
ment's utter silence, worse even than the noise, and
then another sickening blow, as if some giant of the
deep had picked up the vessel and flung her down at his
feet. Then all was still, except the lap — lap— lap of the
waves as they flew by. Most of the passengers rushed
helternskelter to the doors, but the party at the Captain's
table did not wholly lose their wits. The Editor, the
Bomancer, and the Critic sprang to their feet, and
looked at one another without a word; the Tragedian
turned instantly to support Beatrice^ who, with a little

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14 ON BOARD THE ''BAVARIA:'

snbdaed shriek, was about to faint, when her eyes fell
npon the Novelist opposite. He was seated impassively,
with the long neck of a bottle of sherry sticking out
of one of his capacious pockets, busily engaged in filling
the other with whatever eatables he 6ould lay his hands
upon. So she only burst into a peal of that merry
child-like laughter which so many love to hear, and,
after a minute, they all joined the crowd hurrying up
the stairs. They reached the deck at the same moment
as the Captain, who was returning quietly from the
bridge. "Ladies and gentlemen," he said, "don't be
alarmed; there is not the slightest danger. "We have
only broken our shaft ! "

So the Captain's prophecy did not come true. Four
days from the eventful evening when the breaking of
the shaft interrupted the company at dinner, Sandy
Hook was as far off as ever, and the B<waria was lying-
to, with just enough sail spread to keep her head to the
wind — ^what there was of it — ^which had blown persist-
ently from the wrong quarter. For four days she had
been drifting about, a great iron coal-freighted hulk,
now a few miles one way and now the other ; but except
the delay, her passengers had suffered no inconvenience.
The novelty of being helplessly becalmed, however, had
worn off after a few hours, and a dull, leaden ennui had
settled down upon them. Without wind, and plenty of
ii; there is no good spirits on board ship ; without move-
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ON BOARD THE ''BAVARIA.'' 15

ment in the vessel there is none in the veins of the pas-
sengertJ. As the evening was closing on the fourth day
the same group was gathered together on the lee side
of the deck-honses, silent, ill-tempered, bored to death.
In the ceiiter Beatrice wbs reclining in, a steamer-chair,
enveloped in rags from neck to feet, and her face hidden
by a thick veil. On one side of her stood the Eminent
Tragedian, on the other the Editor, and round them
were stretched upon the deck in a variety of unconven-
tionally comfortable attitudes the Romancer, the Critic,
and the Novelist. The last-named was deeply engrossed
in the congenial task of translating "Der Konig in
Thule " into classical Greek. He had rendered most of
it to his satisfaction, and was begmning the last verse,
when iie was suddenly interrupted by the voice of the
Tragedian addressing him. " How absurd not to have
thought of it before ! My dear sir, when I saw you
coming aboard and heard of your wonderful experi-
ences, I premised myself that on the very first oppor-
tunity I would summon you, in the name of our party,
to put some of them in narrative form for us. That
opportunity is here — ^night, moonlight, this mysterious
and inspiring expanse of silvery water — ^all nature is
propitious, and your listeners are eager. Tour memory
and your portfolio must be full of thrilling stories.
Come — *an honest tale speeds best.'" Before the
Novelist had time to say a word, the Tragedian's request
was backed by the others with such instant unanimity,

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16 our BOARD THE ''BAVARIA.''

that, when the chorns of entreaty had ceased, exense was
no longer possible. He hesitated for a few moments
only, then drawing himself np till his bade rested com-
fortably against the deck-house, and arranging himself
carefully in his rug, he lighted a cigarette, and told the
following tale :

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THE UPPER BERTH.*

Br F. MAEION CBAWFOED.

Somebody asked for tlie cigars. We had talked long,
and tlie conversation was beginning to langnish; the
tobaccoHsmoke had got into the heavy curtains, the wine
had got into those brains which were liable to become
heavy, and it was already perfectly evident that, unless
somebody did something to rouse our oppressed spirits,
the meeting would soon come to its natural conclusion,
and we, the guests, would speedily go home to bed, and
most certainly to sleep. No one had said anything very
remarkable; it may be that no one had anything very
remarkable to say. Jones had given us every particu-
lar of his last hunting-adventure in Yorkshire. Mr.
Tompkins, of Boston, had explained at elaborate length
those working principles, by the due and careful mainte-
nance of which the Atchison, Topeka, and Santa F6
Bailroad not only extended its territory, increased its
departmental influence, and transported live-stock with-
out starving them to death before the day of actual de-

♦ Ck^yright, 1885, by D. Apfibtok ahb Compaht.

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18 THE UPPEB BEETR.

livery, but also liad for years succeeded in deceiving
those passengers who bought its tickets into the falla-
cious belief that the corporation aforesaid was real-
ly able to transport human life without destroying it.
Signor Tombola had endeavored to persuade us, by argu-
ments which we took no trouble to o}^>ose, that the
unity of his country in no way resembled the average
modem torpedc^ carefully planned, constructed with all
the skill of the greatest European arsenals, but, when
constructed, destined to be directed by feeble hands into
a region where it must undoubtedly explode, unseen,
unfeared, and unheard, into the illimitable wastes of
political chaos.

It is unnecessary to go into further details. The
conversation had assumed proportions which would have
bored Prometheus on his rock, which would have driven
Tantalus to distraction, and which would have impelled
Ixion to seek relaxation in the simple but instructive
dialogues of Herr Ollendorff, rather than submit to the
greater evil of listening to our talk. We had sat at our
table for hours ; we were bored, we were tired, and no-
body showed signs of moving.

Somebody called for cigars. "We all instinctively
looked toward the speaker. Brisbane was a man of five-
and-thirty years of age, and remarkable for those gifts
which chiefly attract the attention of men. He was a
strong man. The external proportions of his figure pre-
sented nothing extraordinary to the common eye, though

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THE UPPER BERTH. 19

his size was above the ayerage. He was a little over
six feet in height, and moderately broad in the shoulder ;
he did not appear to be stont, but, on the other hand, he
was certainly not thin ; his small head was supported by
a strong and sinewy neck ; his broad muscular hands ap-
peared to possess a peculiar skill in breaking walnuts
without the assistance of the ordinary cracker, and, see-
ing him in profile, one could not help remarking the ex-
traordinary breadth of his sleeves, and the unusual thick-
ness of his chest. He was one of those men who are
commonly spoken of among men as deceptive; that is
to say, that though he looked exceedingly strong he was
in reality very much stronger than he looked. Of his
features I need say little. His head is small, his hair is
thin, his eyes are blue, his nose is large, he has a small
mustache, and a square jaw. Everybody knows Bris-
bane, and when he asked for a cigar everybody looked
at him.

"It is a very singular thing," said Brisbane.

Everybody stopped talking. Brisbane's voice was
not loud, but possessed a peculiar quality of penetrat-
ing general conversation, and cutting it like a knife.
Everybody listened. Brisbane, perceiving that he had
attracted their general attention. Jit his cigar with great
equanimity.

"It is very singular," he continued, "that thing
about ghosts. People are always asking whether any-
body has seen a ghost. I have."

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20 THE UPPER BEETS.

" Bosh I What, yon f Ton don't mean to say so^
Brisbane? Well, for a man of his intelligence!''

A dboras of exclamations greeted Brisbane's re-
markable statement. Everybody called for cigars,
and Stnbbs the bntler suddenly appeared from the
depths of nowhere with a fresh bottle of dry cham-
pagne. The situation was saved ; Brisbane was going
to tell a story.

I am an old sailor (said Brisbane), and as I have to
cross the Atlantic pretty often, I have my favorites.
Most men have their favorites. I have seen a man wait
in a Broadway bar for three quarters of an hour for a
particular car which he liked. I believe the bar-keeper
made at least one third of his living by that man's pref-
erence. I have a habit of waiting for certain ships when
I am obliged to cross that duck-pond. It may be a preju-
dice, but I was never cheated out of a good passage but
once in my life. I remember it very well; it was a
warm momiug in June, and the Custom House officials,
who were hanging about waiting for a steamer already
on her way up from the Quarantine, presented a pecul-
iarly hazy and thoughtful appearance. I had not much
luggage — ^I never have. I mingled with the crowd of
passengers, porters, and officious individuals in blue coats
and brass buttons, who seemed to spring up like mush-
rooms from the deck of a moored steamer to obtrude
their unnecessary services upon the independent pas-

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THE UPPER BEETS. 21

Benger. I liave often noticed with a certain interest the
epontaneons evolution of these fellows. They are not
there when yon arrive ; five minutes after the pilot has
c^Ued " Go a-head I " they, or at least their blue coats
and brass buttons, have disappeared from deck and gang-
way BS completely as though they had been condgned to
that locker which tradition unanimously ascribes to Davy
Jones. But, at the moment of starting, they are there,
clean-shaved, blue-coated, and ravenous for fees. I hast-
ened on board. The KamUchaCka was one of my favor-
ite ships. I say was, because she emphatically no long^
is. I can not conceive of any inducement which could
entice me to make another voyage in her. Tes, I know
what you are. going to say. She is uncommonly dean in
the run aft, she has ^ough bluffling off in the bows to
keep her dry, and the lower berths are most of them
double. She has a lot of advantages, but I won't cross
in her again. Excuse the digression. I got on board. I
hailed a steward, whose red nose and redder whiskers
were equally familiar to me.

" One hundred and five, lower b^th,'' said I, in the
business-hke tone peculiar to men who think no more of
crossing the Atlantic than taking a whisky cocktail^at
down-town Delmonico's.

The steward took my portmanteau, great coat, and
rug. I shall never forget the expression of his face.
Kot that he turned pale. It is maintained by the most
eminent divines that even miracles can not change the

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22 THE TTPPEB BEETH.

course of nature. I Have no hesitation in saying Uiat lie
did not trim pale ; but, from his expression, I judged that
he was either about to shed tears, to sneeze, or to drop
my portmanteau. As the latter contained two bottles of
particularly fine old sherry presented to me for my voy-
age by my old friend Snigginson van Pickyns, I felt ex-
tremely nervous. But the steward did none of these
things.

" Well, I am d d I " said he, in a low voice, and

led the way.

I supposed my Hermes, as he led me to the lower re-
gions, had had a little grog, but I said nothing, and fol-
lowed him. 105 was on the port side, well aft. There
was nothing remarkable about the state-room. The lower
berth, like most of those upon the KamUchatJcay was
double. There was plenty of room ; there was the usual
washing-apparatus, calculated to convey an idea of luxury
to the mind of a North American Indian ; there were the
usual inefficient racks of brown wood, in which it is more
easy to hang a large-sized umbrella than the common
tooth-brush of commerce. Upon the uninyiting mattresses
were carefully folded together those blankets which a
great modem humorist has aptly compared to cold buck-
wheat cakes. The question of towels was left entirely to
the imagination. The glass decanters were filled with a
transparent liquid faintly tinged with brown, but from
which an odor less faint, but not more pleasing, ascended
to the nostrils, like a far-off sea-sick reminiscence of oily

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THE UPPER BERTH. 28

machinery. Sad-colored curtains half-closed the npper
berth. The hazy June dayKght shed a faint iUumination
upon the desolate little scene. Ugh 1 how I hate that
state-room.

The steMrard deposited my traps and looked at me,
as though he wanted to get away — ^probably in search of
more passengers and more fees. It is always a good
plan to start in favor with those functionaries, and I
accordingly gave him certain coins there and then.

" m try and make yer comfortable all I can," he
remarked, as he put the coins in his pocket. Neverthe-
less, there was a doubtful intonation in his voice which
surprised me. Possibly his scale of fees had gone up,
and he was not satisfied; but on the whole I was in-
clined to think that, as he himself would have expressed
it, he was "the better for a glass." I was wrong, how-
ever, and did the man injustice.

Nothing especially worthy of mention occurred during
that day. "We left the pier punctually, and it was very
pleasant to be fairly underway, for the weather was warm
and sultry, and the motion of the steamer produced a
refreshing breeze. Everybody knows what the first day
at sea is like. People pace the decks and state at each
other, and oc(sasionally meet acquaintances whom they
did not know to be on board. There is the usual uncer-
tainty as to whether the food will be good, bad, or indif-
ferent, until the first two meals have put the matter
beyond a doubt; there is the usual uncertainty about

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24 THE UPFEB BERTH.

the weather, until the ship is fairly ofi Fire IslancL The
tables are crowded at first, and th^a suddenly thinned*
Pale-faced people spring from their seats and precipitate
themselves toward the door, and each old sailor breathes
more freely as his seansick neighbor rushes from his side,
leaving him plenty of elbow-room and an unlimited com-
mand over the mustard.

One passage across the Atlantic is very much like
another, and we lyho cross very often do not make the
voyage for the sake of novelty. Whales and icebei^
are indeed always objects of interest, but, after all, one
whale is very much like another whale, and one rarely
sees an iceberg at close quarters. To the majority of us
the most delightful moment of the day on board an
ocean steamer is when we have taken our last turn on
deck, have smoked our last cigar, and having succeeded
in tiring ourselves, feel at liberty to turn in with a dear
conscience. On that first night of the voyage I felt
particularly lazy and went to bed in 105 rather earlier
than I usually do. As I tunied in I was amazed to see
that I was to have a companion. A portmanteau, very
like my own, lay in the opposite comer, and in the
upper berth had been deposited a neatly folded rug with
a stick and umbrdla. I had hoped to be alone, and I
was disappointed; but I wondered who my room-mate
was to be, and I determined to have a look at him.

Before I had been Icmg in bed he entered. He was,
as far as I could see, a very tall man, very thin, very

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THE UPPER BEBTE. 25

pale, with sandy hair and whiskerB and colorless gray
eyes. He had about him, I thought, an air of rather
dubious fashion ; the sort of man you might see in Wall
Street, without being able precisely to say what he was
doing there — the sort of man who frequents the Gif6
Anglais, who always seems to be alone, and who drinks
champagne ; you might meet him on a race-course, but
ho would never appear to be doing anything there either.
A little over-dressed — a little odd. There are three or
four of his kind on every ocean steamer. I made up my
mind that I did not care to make his acquaintance, and
I went to sleep saying to myself that I would study his
habits in order to avoid him. If he rose early, I would
rise late ; if he went to bed late, I would go to bed early.
I did not care to know him. If you once know people
of that kind they are always turning up. Poor fellow 1
I need not have taken the trouble to come to so many
decisions about him, for I never saw him again after that
first night in 105.

• I was sleeping soundly when I was suddenly waked
by a loud noise. To judge from the sound my room-
mate must have sprung with a single leap from the
upper berth to the floor. I heard him fumbling with
the latch and bolt of the door, which opened almost im-
mediately, and then I heard his footsteps as he ran at
f uU speed down the passage, leaving the door open be-
hind him. The ship was rolling a little atid I expected

to hear him stumble or fall, but he ran as though he
2

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26 THE UPPER BERTH.

was running for his life. The door swimg on its hinges
with the motion of the vessel, and the sound annoyed
me. I got up and shut it, and groped mj way back to
my berth in the darkness. I went to sleep again ; but 1
have no idea how long I slept.

When I awoke it was still quite dark, but I felt a dis-
agreeable sensation of cold, and it seemed to me that the
air was damp. Yon know the peculiar smell of a cabin
which has been wet with sea water. I covered myself
up as well as I could and dozed o£E again, framing com-
plaints to be made the next day, and selecting the most
powerful epithets in the language. I could hear mj
room-mate turn over in the upper berth. He had prob-
ably returned while I was asleep. Once I thonght I
heard him groan, and I argued that he was Sea-sick
That is particularly nnpleasant when (me is below. Nev-
ertheless I dozed off and slept till early daylight.

The ship was rolling heavily, mnch more than on
the previous evening, and the gray light which came in
through the port-hole changed in tint with every move-
ment according as the angle of the vessePs side turned
the glass seaward or skyward. It was very cold — ^unac-
countably so for the month of June. I turned my head
and looked at the port-hole, and saw to my surprise that
it was wide open and hooked back. I believe I swore
audibly. Then I got up and shut it. As I turned back
I glanced at the upper berth. The curtains were drawn
close together ; my companion had probably felt cold as

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THE UPPER BERTH. 27

well as I. It struck me that I had slept enough. The
Btate-room was uncomfortable ; though, strange to say, I
could not smeU the dampness which had annoyed me in
the night. My room-mate was still asleep — excellent op-
portunity for avoiding him; so I dressed at once and
went on deck. The day was warm and cloudy, with an
oily smell on the water. It was seven o'clock as I came
out — ^mueh later than I had imagined. I came across
the doctor, who was taking his first sniff of the morning
air. He was a young man from the west of Ireland — a
tremendous fellow, with black hair and blue eyes, already
inclined to be stout; he bad a happy-go-lucky, healthy
look about him which was rather attractive.

" Fine morning,'* I remarked, by way of introducticH).

" "Well," said he, eying me with an air of ready in-
terest, " if s a fine morning and it's not a fine morning.
I don't think that it's much of a morning,"

"Well, no — ^it is not so very fine," said I.

" It's just what I call fuggly weather," replied the
doctor.

" It was very cold last night, I thought," I remarked.
" However, when I looked about, I found that the port-
hole was wide open. I had not noticed it when I went
to bed. And the state-room was damp, too."

" Damp ! " said he. " Whereabouts are you ? "

" One hundred and five — ^"

To my surprise the doctor started visibly, and stared
at me.

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28 THE UPPER BERTH.

« What is the matter ? '' I asked, blandly.

" Oh^-nothing^'^ he answered ; " only everybody has
complained of that state-room for the last three
trips."

" I shall complain too," I said. " It has certainly not
been properly aired. It is a shame ! "

" 1 don't believe it can be helped," answered the doc-
tor. " I believe there is something — ^weU, it is not my
business to frighten passengers."

" You need not be afraid of frightening me," I re-
plied. ^^ I can stand any amount of damp. If I should
get a bad cold I will come to you."

I offered the doctor a cigar, which he took and ex-
amined very critically.

" It is not so much the damp," he remarked. " How-
ever, I dare say you will get on very well. Have you a
room-mate ? "

" Yes ; a deuce of a fellow, who bolts out in the mid-
dle of the night and leaves the door open."

Again the doctor glanced curiously at me. Then he
ht the cigar and looked grave.

" Did he come back ? " he asked presently.

" Yes. I was asleep, but I waked up and heard him
moving. Then I felt cold and went to sleep again. This
morning I found the port-hole open."

" Look here," said the doctor, quietly, " I don't care
much for this ship. I don't care a rap for her reputa-
tion. I tell you what I will do. I have a good-sized

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THE UPPER BERTH. 29

place up here. I will share it with you, though I don't
know you from Adam."

I was very much suprised at the proposition. I could
not imagine why he should take such a sudden interest
in my welfare. However, his manner as he spoke of the
ship was peculiar.

" You are very good, doctor," I said. " But, really,
I believe even now the cabin could be aired, or cleaned
out, dr something. Why do not you care for the ship? "

" We are not superstitious in our profession, sir," re-
plied the doctor. "But the sea makes people so. I
don't want to prejudice you, and I don't want to frighten
you, but if you take my advice you will move in here.
I would as soon see you overboard," he added, earnestly,
"as know that you or any other man was to sleep in
105."

"Good gracious!* Why?" I asked.

" Just because on the last three trips the people who
have slept there actually have gone overboard," he an-
swered, gravely.

The intelligence was startling and exceedingly un-
pleasant, I confess. I looked hard at the doctor to see
whether he was making game of me ; but he looked per-
fectly serious. I thanked him warmly for his offer, but
told him I intended to be the exception to the rule by
which every one who slept in that particular state-room
went overboard. He did not say much, but looked as
grave as ever, and hinted that before we got across I

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30 THE U^PER BERTH.

should probably reconsider his proposal. In the conrse
of time we went to breakfast, at which only an inconsid-
erable number of passengers assembled. I noticed that
one or two of the officers who breakfasted with ns looked
grave. After breakfast I went into my state-room in
order to get a book. The curtains of the upper berth
were still closely drawn. Not a word was to be heard.
My room-mate was probably still asleep.

As I came out I met the steward whose business it
was to look after me. He whispered that the captain
wanted to see me, and then scuttled away down the pas-
sage as if very anxious to avoid any questions. I went
toward the captain's cabin, and found him waiting for
me.

" Sir," said he, ^' I want to ask a favor of you.'^

I answered that 1 would do anything to oblige him.

" Tour room-mate has disappeared," he said. " He
is known to have turned in early last night. Did you
notice anything extraordinary in his manner?"

The question coming, as it did, in exact confirmation
of the fears the doctor had expressed half an hour earlier,
staggered me.

" Tou don't mean to say he has gone overboard ! " I
asked.

" I fear he has," answered the captain.

" This is the most extraordinary thing — ^" I began.

"Why?" he asked.

" He is the fourth, then ? " I explained.

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THE UPPER BERTH. 31

In answer to another question from the captain, I ex-
plained, without mentioning the doctor, that I had heard
the story concerning 105. He seemed veiy much an-
noyed at hearing that I knew of it I told him what
had occurred in the night

" What you say,'' he replied, " coinddes almost ex-
actly with what was told me by the room-mates of two
of the other three. They bolt out of bed and run down
the passage. Two of them were seen to go overboard
by the watch ; we stopped and lowered boats, but thqr
were not found. Nobody, howevOT, saw or heard the
man who was lost last night — H he is really lost. The
steward, who is a superstitious fellow, perhaps, and ex-
pected something to go wrong, went to look for him this
morning, and found his berth empty, but his clothes
lying about, just as he had left them. The steward was
the only man on board who knew him by sight, and he
has been searching everywhere for him. He has disap-
peared ! Now, sir, I want to beg you not to mention the
circumstance to any of the passengers ; I don't want the
ship to get a bad name, and nothing hangs about an
ocean-goer like stories of suicides. Ton shall have your
choice of any one of the officers' cabins you like, includ-
ing my own, for the rest of the passage. Is that a fair
bargain?"

"Yery," said I; "I am much obliged to you. But
since I am alone, and have the state-room to myself, I
would rather not move. K the steward would take out

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32 TEE UPPER BERTE.

that unfortunate man's things, I wonld as lief stay where
I am. I will not say anything about the matter, and I
think I can promise you that I will not follow my room-
mate."

The captain tried to dissuade me from my intention,
but I preferred having a state-room alone to being the
chum of any officer on board. I do not know whether I
acted foolishly, but if I had taken his advice I should
have had nothing more to telL There would have re-
mained the disagreeable coincidence of several stdcides
occurring among men who had slept in the same cabin,
but that would have been all.

That was not the end of the matter, however, by any
means. I obstinately made up my mind that I wonld
not be disturbed by such tales, and I even went so far
as to argue the question with the captain. There was
something wrong about the state-room, I said. It was
rather damp. The port-hole had been left open last
night. My room-mate might have been ill when he
came on board, and he might have become delirious
after he went to bed. He might even now be hiding
somewhere on board, and might be found later. The
place ought to be aired and the fastening of the port
looked to. If the captain would give me leave I would
see that what I thought necessary were done imme-
diately.

*' Of course you have a right to stay where you are
if you please," he replied, rather petulantly ; ^* but I wish

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THE UPPER BERTH. 33

you would torn out and let me lock the place ap, and be
done with it."

I did not see it in the same h'ght, and left the captain
after promising to be silent concerning the disappearance
of my companion. The latter had had no acquaintances
on board, and was not missed in the coarse of the day.
Toward evening I met the doctor again, apd he asked
me whether I had changed my mind. I told him I had
not.

"Then you will before long," he said, very grave-

"We played whist in the evening, and I went to bed
late. I will confess now that I felt a disagreeable sensa-
tion when I entered my state-room. I could not help
thinking of the tall man I had seen on the previous
night, who was now dead, drowned, tossing about in the
long swell, two or three hundred miles astern. His face
rose very distinctly before me as I undressed, and I even
vrent so far as to draw back the curtains of the upper
berth, as though to persuade myself that he was actu-
ally gone. I also bolted the door of the state-room.
Suddenly I became aware that the port-hole was open,
and fastened back. This was more than I could stand.
I hastily threw on my dressing-gown and went in search
of Kobert, the steward of my passage. I was very angry,
I remember, and when I found him I dragged him
roughly to the door of 105, and pushed him toward' the
open port-hole.

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34 THE UPPER BEETS.

"What the deuce do you mean, you scoundrel, by
leaving that port open every night ? Do you know it is
against the regulations ? Do you know that if the ship
heeled and the water began to come in, ten men could
not shut it ? 1 will report you to the captain, you black-
guard, for endangering the ship 1 "

I was exceedingly wroth. The man trembled and
turned pale, and then began to shut the round glass plate
with the heavy brass fittings.

" Why don't you answer me ? " I said, roughly.

" If you please, sir," faltered Robert, " there's nobody
on board as can keep this 'ere port shut at night. Yon
can try it yourself, sir. I ain't a-going to stop hany
longer on board o' this vessel, sir ; I ain't, indeed. But
if I was you, sir, Pd just clear out and go and sleep with
the surgeon, or something, I would. Look 'ere, sir, is
that fastened what you may call securely, or not, sir?
Try it, sir, see if it will move a hinch."

I tried the port, and found it perfectly tight.

"Well, sir," continued Eobert, triumphantly, "I
wager my reputation as a Al steward, that in 'arf an
hour it will be open again ; fastened back, too, sir, that's
the horful thing — ^fastened back!"

I examined the great screw and the looped nut that
ran on it.

" If I find it open in the night, Eobert, I will give
you a sovereign. It is not possible. You may go."

" Soverin' did you say, sir ? Very good, sir. Thank

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TEE UPPER BERTH. 36

ye, sir. Good-niglit, sir. Pleasant reepoee, sir, and all
manner of hinchantin' dreams, sir."

IBobert Bcnttled away, delighted at being released.
Of course, I thought he was trying to account for his
negligence by a silly story, intended to frighten me, and
I disbelieved him. The consequence was that he got
his sovereign, and I spent a very peculiarly unpleasant
night.

I went to bed, and five minutes after I had rolled
myself up in my blankets the inexorable Bobert extin-
guished the light that burned steadily behind the ground-
glass pane near the door. I lay quite still in the dark
trying to go to sleep, but I soon found that impossible.
It had been some satisfaction to be angry with the
steward, and the diversion had banished that unpleasant
sensation I had at first experienced when I thought of
the drowned man who had been my chum ; but I was no
longer sleepy, and I lay awake for some time, occasion-
ally glancing at the port-hole, which I could just see
from where I lay, and which, in the darkness, looked
like a faintly-luminous soup-plate suspended in blackness.
I beUeve I must have lain there for an hour, and, as I
remember, I was just dozing into sleep when I was
roused by a draught of cold air and by distinctly feeling
the spray of the sea blown upon my face. I started to
my feet, and not having allowed in the dark for the
motion of the ship, I was instantly thrown violently
across tha state-room upon the couch which was placed

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36 THE UPPMt BERTH.

beneath the port-hole. I recovered myself immediately,
however, and climbed upon my knees. The port-hdye
was again wide open and fastened back !

Now, these things are facts. I was wide awake when
I got up, and I should certainly have been waked by the
fall had I still been dozing. Moreover, I bruised my
elbows and knees badly, and the bruises were there on
the following morning to testify to the fact, if I myself
had doubted it. The port-hole was wide open and fast-
ened back — a thing so unaccountable that I remember
very well feeling astonishment rather than fear when I"
discovered it. I at once closed the plate again and
screwed down the loop nut with all my strength. It was
very dark in the state-room. I reflected that the port
had certainly been opened within an hour after Robert
had at first shut it in my presence, and I determined to
watch it and see whether it would open again. Those
brass fittings are very heavy and by no means easy to
move; I could not believe that the clamp had been
turned by the shaking of the screw. I stood peering out
through the thick glass at the alternate white and gray
streaks of the sea that foamed beneath the ship^s side. I
must have remained there a quarter of an hour.

Suddenly, as I stood, I distinctly heard something
moving behind me in one of the berths, and a moment
afterward, just as I tinned instinctively to look — though
I could of course see nothing in the darkness — ^I heard a
very faint groan. I sprang across the state-room, and

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TEE UPPER BERTH. 37

tore the curtains of the upper berth aside, thrusting
in my hands to discover if there were any one there.
There was some one.

I remember that the sensation as I put my hands
forward was as though I were plunging them into the
air of a damp cellar, and from behind the curtains came
a gust of wind that smelled horribly of stagnant sea-
water. I laid hold of something that had the shape of
a man's arm, but was smooth, and wet, and icy cold.
But suddenly, as I pulled, the creature sprang violently
forward against me, a clammy, oozy mass, as it seemed
to me, heavy and wet, yet endowed with a sort of super-
natural strength. I reeled across the state-room, and in
an instant the door opened and the thing rushed out. . I
had not had time to be frightened, and, quickly recover-
ing myself, I sprang through the door and gave chase at
the top of my speed; but I was too late. Ten yards
before me I could see — I am sure I saw it — a dark
shadow moving in the dimly lighted passage, quickly as
the shadow of a fast horse thrown before a dog-cart by
the lamp on a dark night. But in a moment it had dis-
appeared, and I found myself holding on to the polished
rail that ran along the bulkhead where the passage
turned toward the companion. My hair stood on end,
and the cold perspiration rolled down my face. I am
not ashamed of it in the least : I was very badly fright-
ened.

Still I doubted my senses, and pulled myself togeth-

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38 THE UPPER BEETS.

er. It was absnrd, I thoTight. The Welsh i^uD^it I
had eaten had disagreed -with me. I had been in a
nightmare. I made my way baek to my state-ioom,
and entered it with an efEort The whole place smelled
of stagnant sea- water, as it had when I had waked on
the previons evening. It required my utmost strength
to go in and grope among my things for a box of wax
lights. As I lighted a railway reading-lantern which I
always carry in case I want to read after the lamps are
out, I perceived that the port-hole was again open, and
a sort of creeping horror began to take possession of
me which I never felt before, nor wish to feel again.
But I got a light and proceeded to examine the upper
berth, expecting to find it drenched with sea-water.

But I was disappointed. The bed had been slept
in, and the smell of the sea was strong; but the bed-
ding was as dry as a bone. I fancied that Eobert had
not had the courage to make the bed after the acci-
dent of the previous night — ^it had all been a hideous
dream. I drew the curtains back as far as I coujji,
and examined the place very carefully. It was per-
fectly dry. But the port-hole was open again. With
a sort of dull bewilderment of horror I closed it and
screwed it down, and, thrusting m}'^ heavy stick through
the brass loop, wrenched it with all my might, till the
thick metal began to bend under the pressure. Then
I hooked my reading-lantern into the red velvet at the
head of the couch, and sat down to recover my senses

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TBE UPPER BERTH. 39

if I could. I sat there all night, unable to think of
rest — ^hardly able to think at all. But the port-hole
remained closed, and I did not believe it would now
open again without the application of a considerable
force.

The morning dawned at last, and I dressed myself
slowly, thinking over all that had happened in the
night. It was a beautiful day, and I went on deck,
glad to get out into the early, pure sunshine, and to
smell the breeze from the blue water, so diflEerent from
the noisome, stagnant odor of my state-room. Instinct-
ively I turned aft, toward the surgeon's cabin. There
he stood, with a pipe in his mouth, taking his morning
airing precisely as on the preceding day.

" Good-morning," said he, quietly, but looking ^ me
with evident curiosity.

" Doctor, you were quite right," said I. " There is
something wrong about that place."

"I thought you would change your mind," he an-
swered rather triumphantly. "You have had a bad
night, eh ? Shall I make you a pick-me-up ? I have a
capital recipe."

"No, thanks," I cried. "But I would like to tell
you what happened."

I then tried to explain, as clearly as possible, precisely
what had occurred, not omitting to state that I had been
scared as I had never been scared in my whole life be-
fore. I dwelt particularly on the phenomenon of the

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40 THE UPPER BEBTH.

port-hole, which was a fact to which I could testify, even
if the rest had been an illusion. I had closed it twice
in the night, and the second time I had actually bent
the brass in wrenching it with my stick. I believe I in-
sisted a good deal on this point.

" Ton seem to think I am likely to doubt the story,"
said the doctor, smiling at the detailed account of the
state of the port-hole. " I do not doubt it in the least.
I renew my invitation to you. Bring your traps here,
and take half my cabin."

" Come and take half of mine for one night," I said.
" Help me to get at the bottom of this thing."

" You will get to the bottom of something else if you
try," answered the doctor.

"What?" I asked.

" The bottom of the sea. I am going to leave this
ship. It is not canny."

" Then you will not help me to find out — "

" Not I," said the doctor, quickly. " It is my busi-
ness io keep my wits about me — ^not to go fiddling about
with ghosts and things."

"Do you really believe it is a ghost?" I inquired,
rather contemptuously. But as I spoke I remembered
very well the horrible sensation of the supernatural
which had got possession of me during the night. The
doctor turned sharply on me.

" Have you any reasonable explanation of these
things to offer ? " he asked. " No ; you have not. Well,

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THE UPPER BERTH. 41

you say you will find an explanation. I say that you
won't, sir, simply because there is not any."

** But, my dear sir," I retorted, " do you, a man of
science, meian to tell me ^l^hat such things can not be ex-
plained?"

** I do," he answered, stoutly. " And if they could,
I would not be concerned in the explanation."

I did not care to spend another night alone in the
state-room, and yet I was obstinately determined to get at
the root of the disturbances. I do not believe there are
many men who would have slept there alone, after pass-
ing two such nights. But I made up my mind to try it
if I could not get any one to share a watch with me.
The doctor was evidently not inclined for such an experi-
ment. He said he was a suigeon, and that in case any
accident occurred on board he must be always in readi-
ness. He could not afford to have his nerves unsettled.
Perhaps he was quite right, but I am inclined to think
that his precaution was prompted by his inclination. On
inqtdry, he informed me that there was no one on board
who would be likely to join me in my investigations, and
after a little more conversation I left him. A little later
I met the captain, and told him my story. I said that if
no one would spend the night with me I would ask leave
to have the light left burning all night, and would try it
alone.

" Look here," said he, " I vnll tell you what I will do.
I will share your watch myself, and we will see what hap-

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42 THE UPPER BERTH.

pens. It is my belief that we can find ont between us.
There may be some fellow skulking on board, who steals
a passage by frightening the passengers. It is jost pos-
sible that there may be something queer in the capent^-
ing of that berth.*'

I suggested taking the ship's carpenter below and ex-
amining the place ; but I was oveijoyed at the captain's
offer to spend the night with me. He accordingly sent
for the workman and ordered him to do anything I re-
quired. We went below at once. I had all the bed-
ding cleared out of the upper berth, and we examined
the place thoroughly to see if there was a board loose
anywhere, or a panel which could be opened or pushed
aside. We tried the planks everywhere, tapped the floor-
ing, unscrewed the fittings of the lower berth and took it
to pieces — in short, there was not a square inch of the
state-room which was not searched and tested. Ev^-
thing was in perfect order, and we put everything back
in its place. As we were finishing our work, Robert
came to the door and looked in.

"Well, sir — find anything, sir?" he asked with a
ghastly grin.

"Tou were right about the port-hole, Robert," I
said, and I gave him the promised sovereign. The car-
penter did his work silently and skillfully, following my
directions. When he had done he spoke.

"I'm a plain man, sir," he said. "But it's my
belief you had better just turn out your things and

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THE UPPER BERTH. 43

let 'em run half a dozen four-incli screws through the
door of this cabin. There's no good never came o'
this cabin yet, sir, and that's all about it. There's
been four lives lost out o' here to my own remem-
brance, and that in four trips. Better give it up, sir —
better give it up 1 "

" I will try it for one night more," I said.

" Better give it up, sir — better give it up ! It's a
precious bad job," repeated the workman, putting his
tools in his bag and leaving the cabin.

But my spirits had risen considerably at the prospect
of having the captain's company, and I made up my
mind not to be prevented from going to the end of the
strange business. I abstained from Welsh rare-bits and
grog that evening, and did not even join in the custom-
ary game of whist. I wanted to be quite sure of my
nerves, and my" vanity made me anxious to make a good
figure in the captain's eyes.

The captain was one of those splendidly tough and
cheerful specim«is of seafaring humanity whose com-
bined courage, hardfliood, and calmness in difficulty leads
them naturally into high positions of trust. He was not
the man to be led away by an idle tale, and the mere
fact that he was willing to jotn me in the investigation
was proof that he thought there wias something seriously
wrong which could not be accounted for on ordinary
theories, nor laughed down as a common superstition.
To some extent, too, his reputation was at stake, as well

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44 THE UPPER BERTH.

as the repatation of the ship. It is no light thing to loee
passengers overboard, and he knew it

Aboat ten o'clock that evening, as I was smoking a
last cigar, he came np to me and drew me aside from tl^
beat of the other passengers who were patrolling the
deck in the warm darkness.

5^ This is a serious matter, Mr. Brisbane," he said.
" We must make np our minds either way — to be disap-
pointed or to have a pretty rongh time of it. Toa see
I can not afiord to laugh at the afiEair, and I will ask you
to sign your name to a statement of whatever occurs.
If nothing happens to-night we will try it again to-mor-
row and next day. Are you ready?''

So we went below, and entered the state-room. As
we went in I could see Robert the steward, who stood a
little further down the passage, watching us, with his
usual grin, as though certain that something dreadful was
about to happen. The captain closed the door behind us
and bolted it.

"Supposing we put your portmanteau before the
door," he suggested. " One of us can sit on it. Noth-
ing can get out then. Is the port screwed down?"

I found it as I had left it in the morning. Indeed,
without using a lever, as I had done, no one could have
opened it. I drew back the curtains of the upper berth
so that I could see well into it. By the captain's advice
I lighted my reading-lantern and placed it so that it
shone upon the white sheets above. He insisted upon

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THE UPPER BERTH. 45

Bitting on the portmanteau, declaring that he wished to
be able to swear that he had sat before the door. Then
he requested me to search the state-room thoroughly, an
operation very soon accomplished, as it consisted merely
in looking beneath the lower berth and under the couch
below the port-hole. The spaces were quite empty.

" It is impossible for any human being to get in," I
Kiid, "or for any human being to open the port."

" Very good," said the captain, calmly. *^^ If we see
anything now, it must be either imagination or some*
thing supernatural."
' I sat down on the edge of the lower berth.

" The first time it happened," said the captain, cross-
ing his legs and leaning back against the door, " was in
March. The passenger, who slept here in the upper
berth, turned out to have been a lunatic — ^at all events,
he was known to have been a little touched, and he had
taken his passage without the knowledge of his friends.
He rushed out in the middle of the night, and threw
himself overboard, before the officer who had the watch
could stop him. We stopped and lowered a boat ; it was
a quiet night, just before that heavy weather came on ;
but we could not find him. Of course his suicide was
afterward accounted for on the ground of his insanity."

" I suppose that often happens ? " I remarked, rather
absently.

"Not often — ^no," said the captain; "never before
in my experience, though I' have heard of it happening

Digitized by Google

46 TEE UPPER BERTH.

on board of oiber ships. Well, as I was saying, that oc
curred in March. On the very next trip— What ar^
you looking at?" he asked, stopping suddenly in Li^
narration.

I believe I gave no answer. My eyes were riveted
upon the port-hole. It seemed to me that the brass loop
nut was beginning to turn very slowly upon the screw-
so slowly, however, that I was not sure it moved at all
I watched it intently, fixing its position in my mind, and
trying to ascertain whether it changed. Seeing where I
was looking, the captain looked too.

" It moves ! " he exclaimed, in a tone of conviction.
" No, it does not,'^ he added, after a minute.

"If it were the Jarring of the screw," said I, *^it
would have opened during the day ; but I found it this
evening jambed tight as I left it this morning."

I rose and tried the nut. It was certainly loosened,
for by an effort I could move it with my hands.

"The queer thing," said the captain, "is that the
second man who was lost is supposed to have got through
that very port. We had a terrible time over it. It was
in the middle of the night, and the weather was very
heavy; there was an alarm that one of the ports was
open and the sea running in. I came below and found
everything flooded, the water pouring in every time she
rolled, and the whole port swinging from the top bolts—
jQot the port-hole in the middle. Well, we managed to
shut it, but the water did some damage. Ever since that

uigiuzeaoy Google

TEE UPPER BERTH. 47

lie place smells of searwater from time to time. "We
supposed the passenger had thrown himself ont, thongh
the Lord only knows how he did it. The steward kept
telling me that he can not keep anything shut here.
Upon my word — I can smell it now, can not youf
he inquired, sniffing the air suspiciously.

" Tes— distinctly," I said, and I shuddered as that
same odor of stagnant sea-water grew stronger in the
cabin. "Now, to smell like this, the place must be
damp," I continued, " and yet when I examined it with
the carpenter this morning everything was perfectly dry.
It is most extraordinary — ^hallo!"

My reading-lantern, which had been placed in the
upper berth, was suddenly extinguished. There was stiU
a good deal of light from the pane of ground glass near
the door, behind which loomed the regulation lamp.
The ship rolled heavily, and the curtain of the upper
berth swung far out into the state-room and back again.
I rose quickly from my seat on the edge of the bed, and
the captain at the same moment started to his feet with a
loud cry of surprise. I had turned with the intention of
taking down the lantern to examine it, when I heard his
exclamation, and immediately afterward his call for help.
I sprang toward him. He was wrestling with all his
might, with the brass loop of the port. It seemed to
turn against his hands in spite of all his efEorts. I
caught up my cane, a heavy oak stick I always used to
carry, and thrust it through the ring and bore on it with

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48 THE UPPER BERTH.

all my strength. But the strong wood snapped sudden-
ly, and I fell npon the conch. When I rose again the
port ^was wide open, and the captain was standing with
his back against the door, pale to the lips.

" There is something in that berth ! " he cried, in a
strange voice, his eyes almost starting from his head
"Hold the door, while I look — ^it shall not escape ns,
whatever it is!"

Bat instead of taking his place, I sprang upon the
lower bed, and seized something which lay in the upper
berth. -

Jt was something ghostly, horrible beyond words, and
it moved in my grip. It was like the body of a man
long drowned, and yet it moved, and had the strength
of ten men living ; but I gripped it with all my might—
the slippery, oozy, horrible thing — ^ihe dead white eyes
seemed to stare at me out of the dusk ; the putrid odor
of rank sea-water was about it, and its shiny hair hung
in foul wet curls over its dead face. I wrestled with the
dead thing ; it thrust itself upon me and farced me back
and nearly broke my arms ; it wound its corpse^s arms
about my neck — the living death — and overpowered
me, so that I, at last, cried aloud and fell, and left m;
hold.

As I fell the thing sprang across me, and seemed to
throw itself upon the captain. When I last saw him on
his feet his face was white and his lips set. It seemed
to me that he struck a violent blow at the dead being,

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THE UPPEE BERTE. 49

and then be, too, fell forward upon his face, with an
inarticulate ciy of horror.

The thing paused an instant, seeming to hover over
his prostrate body, and I could have screamed again for
veiy fright, but I had no voice left. The thing vanished
suddenly, and it seemed to my disturbed sens^ that it
made its exit through the open port ; though how that
was possible, considering the smaUness of the aperture, is
more than any one can telL I lay a long time upon the
floor, and the captain lay beside me. At last I partially
recovered my senses and moved, and instantly I knew
that my arm was broken — the small bone of the left
forearm near the wrist.

I got upon my feet somehow, and with my remain-
ing hand I .tried to raise the captain. He groaned and
moved, and at last came to himself. He was not hurt,
but he seemed badly stunned.

Well, do you want to hear any more? There is
nothing more. That is the end of my story. The
carpenter carried out his scheme of running half a
dozen four-inch screws through the door of 105; and
if ever you take a passage in the KamtschatJca^ you
may ask for a berth in that state-room. You will be
told that it is engaged — yes — ^it is engaged by that dead
thing.

I finished the trip in the surgeon's cabin. He doc-
tored my broken arm, and advised me not to "fiddle
about with ghosts and things " any more. The captain

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60 THE UPFEB BEETH.

was very Bilent, and never BaQed again in that ship^
thongh it is still running. And I will not sail in hei
either* It was a very disagreeable experience, and I
was very badly frightened, which is a thing I do not
like. That is alL That is how I saw a ghost — if it was
a ghost. It was dead, anyhow.

iNobody spoke for some time after the Noyelist finished Ms storj.
The wind, which had changed and freshened daring his recita],
whistled through the rigging overhead, and the yessel rolled heav-
ilj from side to side as she bowled along, every other minute bring-
ing the black harrying waters directly under the feet of the group
by the deck-hoase. At last the silence was broken by E^atriee,
who exclaimed under her breath, ** I shall sleep in the saloon to-
night! I never heard anything so creepy in my life.'* "There is
something decidedly original in the idea of smelling a ghost," said
the Critic, " but for a ghost to be big and solid enough to break
Brisbane's arm, and yet small enough to get through a port-h(^
savors of the improbable. Now, if his atmosphere had beeii poi-
sonous and Brisbane had been found suffocated, or if he had only
had a little more of the Bam Lai style of going to work about
him — " " Pshaw I " exclaimed the Bomancer, " that story is true,
every word of it Nobody can make me beUeve I should sit hare
and shiver at a concoction. Every story that makes your flesh
creep is a true story — ^without that postulate there could be no
romance. Therefore, ghosts exist, as everybody knows." "How
do you know ? " inquired the Tragedian blandly, seeing his oppor-
tunity. "Have you ever seen one?" "That is a question,"
remarked the Bomancer, " which no man has a right to put to
another. It^s as bad, and in the same way, as asking a man
whether certain things move him to edns of the imagination. If I

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THE UPPER BERTH. 61

liave seen gbosts, it is because I have deserved to see ghosts, and, if
I have deserved to see ghosts, why, even the law, the unfairest
thing on earth, would not ask me to criminate mjself by sajing so.
Bat I have no objection to tell yon about a ghost that somebody
saw, if yon care to hear." The company cared very much indeed,
as the Bomancer learned instantly ; so, with the practiced ease of a
man who is master of his sabject, his style, and himself, he plunged
at once into the middle of his story.

d by Google

MARKHEIM.

By BOBEET LOUIS STEVENSON.

" Tes/^ said the dealer, " our windfallB are ot variouB
kinds. Some cnBtomers are ignomiit, and then I touch a
dividend on my superior knowledge. Some are dis-
honest," and here he held up the candle, so that the light
fell strongly on his visitor, " and in that case," he con-
tinued, " I profit by my virtue."

Markheim had but just entered from the daylight
streets, and his eyes had not yet grown familiar with the
mingled shine and darkness in the shop. At these
pointed words, and before the near presence of the flame,
he blinked painfully and looked aside.

The dealer chuckled. " Ton come to me on Christ-
mas-day," he resumed, "when you know that I am alone
in my house, put up my shutters, and make a point of
refusing business. Well, you will have to pay for
that ; you will have to pay for my derangement, when
I should be balancing my books ; you will have to pay,
besides, for a kind of manner that I remark in you
to-day very strongly. I am the essence of discretion,
and ask no awkward questions; but when a customer

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MARKHEIM. 63

can not look me in the eye, he has to pay for it." The
dealer once more chuckled; and then, changing to
his usual bosiness voice, though still with a note of
irony, *^ Ton can give, as usual, a clear account of how
you came into the possession of the object!^' he con-
tinued. "Still your uncle's cabinet? A remarkable
collector, sir!"

And the little pale, round-shouldered dealer stood
ahnoBt on tip-toe, looking over the top of his gold spec-
tacles, and nodding his head with every mark of disbe-
lief. Markheim returned his gaze with one of infinite
pity, and a touch of horror.

" This time," said he, ^'you are in error. I have not
come to sell, but to buy. I have no curios to dispose
of; my uncle's cabinet is bare to the wainscot; even
were it still intact, I have done well on the Stock Ex-
change, and should more likely add to it than otherwise,
and my errand to-day is simplicity itself. I seek a
Christmas present for a lady," he continued, waxing
more fluent as he struck into the speech he had pre-
pared ; " and certainly I owe you every excuse for thus
disturbing you upon so small a matter. But the thing
was neglected yesterday ; I must produce my little com-
pliment at dinner; and, as you very well know, a rich
marriage is not a thing to be neglected."

Then followed a pause, during which the dealer
seemed to weigh this statement incredulously. The
ticking of many clocks among the curious lumber of the

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54 MARKHEIM.

shop, and the faint roshing of the cabs in a near thor-
oughfare, filled np the interval of silence.

" Well, sir," said the dealer, " be it so. Ton are an
old customer after all ; and if, as yon say, yon have the
chance of a good marriage, far be it from me to be an
obstacle. Here is a nice thing for a lady, now," he went
on, ^Hhis hand-glass — ^fifteenth century, warranted —
comes from a good collection, too; but I reserve the
name, in the interests of my customer, who was just like
yourself, my dear sir, the nephew and sole heir of a
remarkable collector."

The dealer, while he thus ran on in his dry and bit-
ing voice, had stooped to take the object from its place;
and, as he had done so, a shock had passed through
Markheim, a start both of hand and foot, a sudden leap
of many tumultuous passions to the face. It pissed as
swiftly as it came, and left no trace beyond a certain
trembling of the hand that now received the glass.

^^ A glass," he said, hoarsely, and llien paused, and
repeated it more clearly. **A glass! For Christmas 1
Surely not 1"

^^And why not?" cried the dealer. "Why not a
glass?"

Markheim was looking upon him with an indefinable
expression. "You ask me why not?" he said. "Why,
look here— look in it — ^look at yourself 1 Do you like to
see it ? No I nor I — ^nor any man."

The little man had jumped back when Markheim

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MARKSEIM. 55

liad so suddenly confronted him with the mirror; bat
no-w, perceiviug there was nothuig worse on hand, he
chuckled. " Tour future lad j, sir, must be pretty hard
favored,^ said he.

** No," said Markheim, with great conyiction. " But
about jou. I ask jou for a Christmas present, and you
give- roe this — ^this damned reminder of years, and sins,
and follies — ^this hand-conscience I Did you mean it?
Had you a thought in your mind ? Tell me. It wiU be
better for you if you do. Come, tell me about yourself.
I hazard a guess now, that you are in secret a very char-
itable man."

The dealer looked closely at hb companion. It was
very odd, Markheim did not appear to be laughing;
there was something in his face like an eager sparkle of
hope, ]{nt nothing of mirth.

" What are you driving at ? " the dealer asked.
"Not charitable?" returned the other, gloomily.
"Not charitable; not pious; not scrupulous; unloving,
unbeloved; a hand to get money, a safe to keep it Is
that all? Dear God, man, is that all?''

" I will tell you what it is,'' began the dealer, with
some sharpness, and then broke ofi again into a chuckle.
" But I see this is a love match of yours, and you have
been drinking the lady's health."

"Ah!" cried Markheim, with a strange curiosity.
" Ah, have you been in love ? Tell me about that."
" I," cried the dealer — " I in love ! I never had the

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*

56 MARKHEIM.

time, nor have I the time today for all this nonsense.
Will you take the glass ? ''

" Where is the hurry ? " returned Markheim, " It is
very pleasant to stand here talking ; and life is so sinori
and insecure that I would not hurry away from any
pleasure — no, not even from so mild a one as this. We
should rather cling, cling to what little we can get, like a
man at a clifPs edge. Every second is a cliff, if ycm
think upon it — a cliff a mile high — ^high enough, if ^we
fall, to dash us out of every feature of himianity.
Hence it is best to talk pleasantly. Let us talk of each
other : why should we wear this mask. Let us be confi-
dential. Who knows, we might become friends ? "

" I have just one word to say to you," said the dealer.
" Either make your purchase, or walk out of my shop ! '^

"True, true," said Markheina. "Enough fooling.
To business. Show me something else."

The dealer stooped once more, this time to replace
the glass upon the shelf, his thin blond hair falling over
his eyes as he did so. Markheim moved a little nearer,
with one hand in the pocket of his great-coat ; he drew
himself up and filled his lungs ; at the same time many
different emotions were depicted together on his face —
terror, horror, and resolve, fascination and a physical re-
pulsion ; and through a haggard lift of his upper lip his
teeth looked out.

" This, perhaps, may suit," observed the dealer ; and
then, as he began to re-arise, Markheim bounded from

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MARKHEIM. 67

beHnd upon his victirn. The long, skewer-like dagger
flashed and fell. The dealer struggled like a hen, strik-
ing his temple on the shelf, and then tumbled on the
floor in a heap.

Time had some score of small voices in that shop,
some stately and slow, as was becoming to their great
age; others garrulous and hurried. All these told out
the seconds in an intricate chorus of tickings. Then the
passage of a lad's feet, heavily running on the pavement,
broke in npon these smaller voices and startled Markheim
into the consciousness of his surroundings. He looked
about him awfully. The candle stood on the counter,
its flame solemnly wagging in a draught; and, by that
inconsiderable movememt, the whole room was filled with
noiseless bustle, and kept heaving like a sea; the tall
sliadows nodding, the gross blots of darkness swelling
and dwindling as with respiration, the faces of the por-
traits and the china gods changing and wavering like
images in water. The inner door stood ajar, and peered
into that lesser of shadows with a long slit of daylight
like a pointing finger.

From these fear-stricken rovings, Markheim's eyes
returned to the body of his victim, where it lay both
humped and sprawling, incredibly small, and strangely
meaner than in life. In these poor, miserly clothes, in
that ungainly attitude, the dealer lay like so much saw-
dust. Markheim had feared to see it, and, lot it was
nothing. And yet, as he gazed, this bundle of old clothes

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58 MARKHSIM.

and pool of blood began to find eloquent voices. There
it must lie ; there was none to work the cunning hinges
or direct the mirade of locomotion — there it must lie till
it was found. Found I ay, and then ? Then would this
dead flesh lift up a cry that would echo over England, and
fill the world with the echoes of pursuit Ay, dead <x
not, this was still the enemy. ^^ Time, was that when 1^
brains were out/' he thought ; and the first word struck
into his mind. Time, now that the deed was accom-
plished — time, which had closed for the victim, had be-
come instant and momentous for the slayer.

The thought was yet in his mind, when, first one and
then another, with every variety of pace and voice — one
deep as the beU from a cathedral turret, another ringing
on its treble notes the prelude of a waltz — ^the docks
began to strike the hour of three in the afternoon.

The sudden outbreak of so many tongues in that
dumb chamber stf^gered him. He began to bestir him-
self, going to and fro with the candle, beleaguered by
moving shadows, and startled to the soul by chance re-
flections. In many rich mirrors, some of home design,
some from Yenice or Amsterdam, he saw his face re-
peated and repeated, as it were an army of spies; his
own eyes met and detected him ; and the sound of his
own steps, lightly as they fell, vexed the surrounding
quiet. And still, as he colilinued to fill his pockets, his
mind accused him, with a sickening iteration, of the thou-
sand faults of his design. He should have chosen a more

/

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MARKHEIIL 59

quiet hour ; he should have prepared an alibi ; he should
not have used a knife; he should have been more cau-
tious, and only bound and gagged the dealer, and not
killed him ; he should hare been more bold, and killed
the seryant also ; he should have done all things other-
wise ; poignant regrets, weary, incessant toiling of the
mind to change what was unchangeable, to plan what was
now useless, to be the architect of the irrevocable past.
Meanwhile, and behind all this activity, l»*ute terrors,
like the scurrying of rats in a deserted attic, filled the
more remote chambers of his brain with riot ; the hand
of the constable would fall heavy on his shoulder, and his
nerves would jerk like a hooked fish ; or he beheld, in
galloping defile^ the dock, the prison, the gallows, and
the black coffin.

Terror of the people in the street sat down before
his mind like a besieging army. It was impossible, he
thought, but that some rumor of the struggle must have
reached their ears and set on edge their curiosity ; and
now, in all tie neighboring houses, he divined them sit^
ting motionless and with uplifted ear — solitary people,
condemned to spend Christmas dwelling alone on memo-
ries of the past,' and now startlingly recalled from that
tender exercise ; happy family parties, struck into silence
round the table, the mother still with raised finger:
eveiy degree and age and humor, but all, by their own
hearths, prying and hearkening and weaving the rope
&at was to hang him. Sometimes it seemed to him he

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60 MAREHEIM.

conld not move too softly ; the clink of the tall Bohe-
mian goblets rang out londly like a bell ; and, alarmed by
the bigness of the ticking, he was tempted to stop the
clocks. And then, again, with a swift transition of his
terrors, the very silence of the honse appeared a soxure
of peril, and a thing to strike and freeze the passer-by ;
and he wonld step more boldly, and bnstle alond amoi^
the contents of the shop, and imitate, with elaborate
bravado, the movements of a bnsy man at ease in h&
own house.

But he was now so pulled about by different alarnis
that, while one portion of his mind was stUl alert and
cunning, another trembled on the brink of lunacy. One
hallucination in particular took a strong hold on his cre-
dulity. The neighbor hearkening with white face beside
his window, the passer-by arrested by a horrible surmise
on the pavement — ^these could at worst suspect, they
could not know ; through the brick walls and shutt^*ed
windows only sounds could penetrate. But here, within
the house, was he alone } He knew he was ; he had
watched the servant set forth sweethearting, in her poor
best, "out for the day," written in every ribbon and
smile. Yes, he was alone, of course ; and yet, in the
bulk of empty house above him, he could surely hear a
stir of delicate footing — ^he was surely conscious, inex-
plicably conscious, of some presence. Ay, surely- to
every room and comer of the house his imagination fol-
lowed it ; and now it was a faceless thing, that yet had

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MABKHEIM. 61

eyes to see with ; and, again, it was a shadow of himself;
and yet, again, behold the image of the dead dealer,
reinspired with cunning and hatred.

At times, with a strong effort, he would glance at the
open door which still seemed to repel his eyes. The
house was tall, the skylight small and dirty, the day
blind with fog ; and the light that filtered down to the
ground story was exceeding faint, and showed dimly
on the threshold of the shop. And yet, in that strip
of doubtful brightness, did there not hang wavering a
shadow ?

Suddenly, from the street outside, a very jovial gen-
tleman began to beat with a staflE on the shop door, ac-
companying his blows with shouts and railleries in which
the dealer was continually called upon by name. Mark-
heim, smitten into ice, glanced at the dead man. But
no ! he lay quite still; he was fled away far beyond ear-
shot of these blows and shoutings ; he was sunk beneath
seas of silence ; and his name, which would once have
caught his notice above the howling of a storm, had be-
come an empty sound. And presently the jovial gentle-
man desisted from his knocking and departed.

Here was a broad hint to hurry what remained to be
done, to geth forth from this accusing neighborhood, to
^unge into a bath of London multitudes, and to reach,
on the other side of day, that haven of safety and appar-
ent innocence — ^his bed. One visitor had come : at any
moment another might follow and be more obstinate.

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62 MARKTTETM.

To have done the deed, and yet not to reap the profit,
would be too abhorrent a failure. The money, that was
now Markheim's concern ; and as a means to that, tiie
keys.

He glanced over his shoulder at the open door, whero
the shadow was still lingering and shivering ; and with
no conscious repugnance of the mind, yet with a trenuur
of the belly, he drew near the body of his victim. The
human character had qoite departed. Like a suit half
stuffed with bran, the limbs lay scattered, the trunk
doubled, on the floor ; and yet the thing repelled him.
Although so dingy and inconsiderable to the eye, he
feared it might have more significance to the touch. He
took the body by the shoulders and turned it on its back.
It was strangely light and supple, and the limbs, as if
they had been broken, fell into the oddest postures. The
face was robbed of all expression ; but it was as pale as
wax, and shockingly smeared with blood about one tem-
ple. That was, for Markheim, the one displeasing ciN
cumstance. It carried him back, upon the instant, to a
certain fair-day in a fishers' village : a gray day, a piping
wind, a crowd upon the street, the blare of brasses, the
booming of drums, the nasal voice of a ballad-singer, and
a boy going to and fro, buried overhead in the crowd and
divided between interest and fear, until, coming out
upon the chief place of concourse, he beheld a booth and
a great screen with pictures, dismally designed, garishly
colored ; Brownri^ with her apprentice ; the Mannings

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MABKHEIM. 63

with their murdered gaest ; Weare in the death-grip of
Thnrtell ; and a score besides of famous crimes. The
thing was as dear as an illusion ; he had shrank back
into that little boy ; he was looking once again, and with
the same sense of physical revolt at these vile pictures ;
he was still stunned by the thumping of the drums. A
bsCr of that day's music returned upon his memory ; and
at that, for the first time, a qualm came over him, a
breath of nausea, a sudden weakness of the joints, which
he must instantly resist and conquer.

He judged it more prudent to confront than to flee
from these considerations ; looking the more hardily in
the dead face, bending his mind to realize the nature
and greatness of his crime. So little a while ago that
face had moved with every change of sentiment, that
pale mouth had spoken, that body had been all on fire
with governable energies ; and now, and by his act, that
piece of life had been arrested, as the horologist, with
interjected finger, arrests the beating of the clock. So
he reasoned in vain ; he could rise to no remorseful con-
scionsness ; the same heart, which had shuddered before
the pamted effigies of crime, looked on its reality un-
moved. At best, he felt a gleam of pity for one who
had been endowed in vain with all those faculties that
can make the world a garden of enchantment, one who
had never lived and who was now dead. But of peni-
tence, no, not a tremor.

With that, shaking himself clear of these considera-

Digitizedby VjOOQIC ^

64 MAREHEIM.

tioiiB, he found the keys and advanced toward the open
door of the shop. Outside, it had begun to rain Bmartlj ;
and the sound of the shower upon the roof had banished
silence. Like some dripping cavern, the chambers of the
house were haunted by a faint, incessant echoing, whid
filled the ear, and mingled with the ticking of tl^
clocks. And, as Markheim approached the door^ he
seemed to hear, in answer to his own cautious tread, the
steps of another foot withdrawing up the stair. The
shadow still palpitated loosely on the threshold. He
threw a ton's weight of resolve upon his muscles, and
drew back the door.

The faint, foggy daylight glimmered dinJy on the
bare floor and stairs ; on the bright suit of armor posted,
halbert in hand, upon the landing; and on the dark
wood-carvings and framed pictures that hung against
the yellow panels of the wainscot. So' loud was the
beating of the rain through all the house that, in Mark-
heim's ears, it began to be distinguished into many dif-
ferent sounds. Footsteps and sighs, the tread of r^
ments marching in the distance, the chink of money in
the counting, and the creaking of doors held stealthily
ajar, appeared to mingle with the patter of the drops
upon the cupola and the gushing of the water in the
pipes. The sense that he was not alone grew upon him
to the verge of madness. On every side he was haunted
and begirt by presences. He hoard them moving stealth-
ily in the npper chambers ; from the shop, he heard the

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MARKHEIM. 65

dead man getting to his legs ; and, as he began with a
great effort to mount the stairs, feet fled quietly before
him and followed gradually behind. If he were but
deaf, he thought, how tranquilly he would possess his
soul I And then again, and hearkening with eyer fresh
attention, he blessed himself for that unresting sense
which held the out-posts and stood a trusted sentinel
upon his life. His head turned continually on his neck ;
his eyes, which seemed starting from their orbits, scouted
on every side, and on every side were half rewarded as
with the tail of something nameless vanishing. The
four-and-twenty steps to the first floor were four-and-
twenty agonies.

On that first story, the doors stood ajar, three of
them like three ambushes, shaking his nerves like the
throats of cannon. He could never again, he felt, be
sufficiently immured and fortified from men's observing
eyes; the sole joy for which he longed was to be home,
girt in by "walls, buried among bedclothes, and invisible
to all but God. And at that thought, he wondered a
little, recollecting tales of other murderers and the fear
they were said to entertain of heavenly avengers. It was
not so, at least, with him. He feared the laws of nature,
lest, in their callous and immutable procedure, they
should preserve some damning evidence of his crime.
He feared tenfold more, with a slavish, superstitious ter-
mor, some scission in the continuity of man's experience,
Bome willful illegality of nature. He played a game of

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QQ MAEKHEIM.

akilly depending on the rales, calculating conseqn^ice
from cause ; and what if nature, as the defeated t jiant
overthrew the chessboard, should break the mold of
their succession? The like had befallen !Napoleon (so
writers said) when the winter changed the time of its
appearance. The like might befaU Markheim : the
solid walls might become transparent, and reveal hiB
doings like those of bees in a glass hive; the stout
planks might yield under his foot like quicksands and
detain him in their clutch; ay, and there were soba^
accidents that might destroy him: if, for instance, the
house should fall and imprison him beside the body of
his victim ; or the house next door should fly on fire,
and the firemen invade him from all sides. These
things he feared; and, in a sense, these things might
be called the hands of God reached forth against sin.
But about God himself he was at ease; his act was,
doubtless, exceptional, but so were his excuses, which
God knew; it was there, and not among men, th«t he
felt sure of justice.

When he had got safe into the drawing-room, and
shut the door behind him, he was aware of a respite from
alarms. The room was quite dismantled, uncarpeted be-
sides, and strewn with packing cases, and incongruous
furniture ; several great pier-glasses, in which he beheld
himself at various angles, like an actor on a stage ; many
pictures, framed and unframed, standing with their faces
to the wall ; a fine Sheraton sideboard, a cabinet of mar-

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MABKHEIM. 67

qnetry, and a great old bed, with tapestry hangings.
The windows opened to the floor ; but, by great, good
fortune, the lower part of the shutters had been closed,
and this concealed him from the neighbors. Here, then,
Markheim drew in a paddng-case before the cabinet,
and began to search among the keys. It was a long
business, for they were many ; and it was irksome, be-
sides ; for, after all, there might be nothing in the cabi-
net, and time was on the wing. But the closeness of the
occupation sobered him. With the tail of his eye he
saw the door ; even glanced at it from time to time di-
rectly, like a besieged ccwnmander pleased to Verify the
good estate of his defenses. But in truth he was at
peace. The rain falling in the street sounded natural
and pleasant. Presently, on the other side, the notes of
a piano were wakened to the music of a hymn, and the
voices of many children took up the air and words.
How stately, how comfortaUe was the melody! How
fresh the youthful voices! Markheim gave ear to it
smilingly, as he sorted out the keys ; and his mind was
thronged with answerable ideas and images; church-
going children and the pealing of the high organ ; chil-
dren afield, bathers by the brookside, ramblers on the
brambly common, kite-flyers in the windy and cloud-
navigated sky; and then, at another cadence of the
hymn, back again to church, and the somnolence of
Btmxmer Sundays, and the high genteel voice of the par-
son (which he smiled a little to recall), and the painted

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68 MABKHEIM.

Jacobean tombs, and tbe dim lettering of the ten com-
mandments in the chanceL

And as he sat thus, at once busy and absent, lie was
startled to his feet A flash of ice, a flash of fire^ t
bursting gnsh of blood, went over him, and then he
stood transfixed and thrilling. A step mounted the stair
slowly and steadily, and presently a hand was laid npoa
the knob, and the lock clicked, and the door opened.

Fear held Markheim in a vise. What to expect be
knew not, whether the dead man walking, or the offidd
ministers of hnman justice, or some chance witnesi
blindly stumbling in to consign him to the gallows. But
when a face was thrust into the aperture, glanced round
the room, looked at him, nodded and smiled as if in
friendly recognition, and then withdrew again, and the
door closed behind it, his fear broke loose from his c(m-
trol in a hoarse cry. At the sound of this the visitant
returned.

" Did you call me ? '* he asked pleasantly, and with
that he entered the room, and closed the door behind
him.

But Markheim stood and gazed at him with all his
eyes. Perhaps there was a film upon his sight, but the
outlines of the new-comer seemed to change and waver
like those of the idols in the wavering candlelight of the
shop ; and at times he thought he knew him ; and at
times he thought he bore a likeness to himself ; and al-
ways, like a lump of living terror, there lay in his bosom

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MABKHEIM. 69

iie convictioii that tliis thing was not of the earth and
lot of God.

And yet the creatore had a strange air of the com-
nonplace, as he stepped in and stood looking on Mark-
leim with a smile; and when he added: "Yon are
looking for the money, I beKeve \ '' it was in the tones
rf everyday politeness.

Harkheim made no answer.

" I shonld warn yon," resumed the other, " that the
maid has left her sweetheart earlier than nsnal and will
soon be here. If Mr. Markheim be found in this house,
I need not describe to him the consequences.'*
" Ton know me ? '* cried the murderer.
The visitor smiled. " You have long been a favorite
of mine,'' he said ; " and I have long observed and often
sought to help you."

" What are you ? " cried Markheim ; " the devil ? "
" What I may be," returned the other, "can not af-
fect the service I propose to render you.'*

"It can,'* cried Markheim; "it does! Be helped
by you? No, never; not by you I You do not know
me yet ; thank God, you do not know me ! "

" I know you," replied the visitant, with a sort of
kind severity, or rather, firmness ; " I know you to the
soul.''

"Know me!" cried Markheim; "who can do so?
My life is but a travesty and slander on myself. I have
lived to belie my nature. All men do ; all men are bet-

Digitized by VjOQQIC

70 MARKBEIM.

ter than this disguise that grows about and stifles them.
Yon see each dragged awaj by life^ like one whcHa
bravos hare seized and mnffled in a cloak. If ihej: had
their own control — ^if yon could see their faces, they
would be altogether difEerent, they would diine oat for
heroes and saints I I am worse than most ; myself iB
more overlaid; my excuse is known to me and CkxL
Bnt had I the time, I could disclose myself.^

"To me I" inquired the yisitant.

**To you before all,'* returned the murderer. "I
supposed you were intelligent. I thought — since yon
exist — ^yon would prove a reader of the heart And 7^
yon would propose to judge me by my acts. Think of
it ; my acts I I was bom and I have lived in a land of
giants ; giants have dra^;ed me by the wrists since I wis
bom out of my mother — the giants of circumstance.
And you would judge me by my acts I But can yon not
look within ? Can you not understand that evil is hate-
ful to me? Can you not see within me the clear writing
of conscience, never blurred by any willful sophistry,
although too often disregarded ? Can you not read me
for a thing that surely must be common as humanity—
the unwilling sinner f *'

" All this is very feelingly expressed,'* was the rejJy,
" but it regards me not. These points of consistency are
beyond my province, and I care not in the least by what
compulsion you may have been dragged away, so as you
are but carried in the right direction. But time flies;

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MAEKEEIM. ^1

the eervant delays,' looking in the faces of the crowd and
at the pictures on the hoardings, but still she keeps mov-
ing nearer ; and remember, it is as if the gallows itself
was striding toward yon through the Christmas streets I
Shall I help you; I, who know all? Shall I tell you
where to find the money ? '*

" For what price f '* asked Markheim.

"I offer you the service for a Christmas gift," re-
turned the other.

Markheim could not refrain from smiling with a kind
of bitter triumph. "No,'' said he, **I will take nothing
at your hands : if I were dying of thirst, and it was your
hand that put the pitcher to my lips, I should find the
courage to refuse it. It may be credulous, but I will do
nothing to commit myself to evil."

" I have no objection to a death-bed repentance," ob-
served the visitant.

"Because you disbelieve their efficacy!" Markheim
cried.

*•! do not say so," returned the other; "but I look
on these things from a different side, and when the. life
is done my interest falls. The man has lived to serve
me, to spread black looks under color of religion, or to
sow tares in the wheat-field, as you do, in a course of
weak compliance with desire. Now that he draws so
near to his deliverance, he can add but one act of service
— ^to repent, to die smiling, and thus to bidld up in con-
fidence and hope the more timorous of my surviving fol-

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72 MARKHEIM.

lowers. I am not so liard a master. Try me. Acoe^
my help. Please yom*self in life as you have done hi&*
erto ; please yourself more amply, spread your elbows nl
the board; and when the night begins to fall and the
eartains to be drawn, I tell you, for your greater eam^
fort, that you will find it even easy to compound yoor
quarrel with your conscience, and to make a trackli^
peace with God. I came but now from such a death-bed,
and the room was full of sincere mourners, listening ta
the man's last words ; and when I looked into that fao^
which had been set as a flint against mercy, I found it
smiling with hope."

^^ And do yon, then, suppose me such a creature f
asked Markfaeim. ^'Do you think I have no more gen-
erous aspirations than to sin, and sin, and sin, and, at the
last, sneak into heaven! My heart rises at the thought
Is this, then, your experience of mankind ? or is it be*
cause you find me with red hands that you presume sodi
baseness? And is this crime of murder indeed so iooh
pious as to dry up the very springs of good?"

" Murder is to me no special category," replied tJw
other. " All sins are murder, even as all life is war. I
behold your race, like starving mariners on a raft, pluck-
ing crusts out of the hands of famine and feeding cm
each other's lives. I follow sins beyond the moment of
their acting ; I find in all that the last consequence is
death ; and, to my eyes, the pretty maid who thwarts
her mother with such taking graces on a question of a

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MARKHEIM. ^Z

ball, drips no less visibly with human gore than such a
oanrderer as yourself. Do I say that I follow sins f I
follow virtues also ; they differ not by the thickness of
a nail, they are both scythes for the reaping-angel of
death. Evil, for which I live, consists not in action
but in character. The bad man is dear to me ; not the
bad act, whose fruits, if we could follow them far enough
down the hurtling cataract of the ages, might yet be
found more blessed than those of the rarest virtues.
And it is not because you have killed a dealer, but be-
cause your name is Markheim, that I offer to forward
your escape."

^ I will lay my heart open to you,'' answered Mark-
heim. " This crime on which you find mft is my last.
On my way to it I have learned many lessons ; itself is a
lesson, a momentous lesson. Hitherto I have been
driven with revolt to what I would not ; I was a bond-
slave to poverty, driven and scourged. There are ro-
bust virtues that can stand in these temptations ; mine
was not so, I had a thirst of pleasure. But to-day,
and out of this deed, I pluck both warning and riches —
both the power and a fresh resolve to be myself. I
become in all things a free actor in the world ; I begin
to see myself all changed, these hands the agents of
good, this heart at peace. Something comes over me
out of the past ; something of what I have dreamed on
Sabbath evenings to the sound of the church-organ, of
'what I forecast when I shed tears over noble books,

4

Digitized by VjOOQIC

74 MABKHEIM.

or talked, an innocent child, with my mother. ^ Them
lies my life ; I have wandered a few years, but now I
see once more my city of destination/'

" You are to use this money on the Stock Exchai^^e^
I think?" remarked the visitor; ^^and there, if I mk-
take not, you have already lost some thousands? ''

^^ Ah," said Markheim, ^^ but this time I have a
thing."

" This time, again, you will lose," replied the visiter,
quietly.

"Ah, but I keep back the half 1" cried Markheim.

" That also you will lose," said the other.

The sweat started upon Markheim's brow. " Well,
then, what matter ? " he exclaimed. " Say it be lost, say
I am plunged again in poverty: shall one part of me, and
that the worst, continue until the end to override the
better? Evil and good run strong in me, haling me
both ways. I do not love the one thing : I love all I
can conceive great deeds, renunciations, marlyrdoms,
and though I be fallen to such a crime as murder, pi^
is no stranger to my thoughts. I pity the poor; wjio
knows their trials better than myself ? I pity and hdp
them ; I prize love, I love honest laughter ; there is no
good thing nor true thing on earth but I love it from
my heart. And are my vices only to direct my life,
and my virtues to lie without effect, like some passive
lumber of the mind? Not so; good, also, is a spring
of acts."

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MARKHEIM. 75

Bat the visitant raised his finger, ^For siz-and-
iiliirty years that you have been in this world," said he,
*^ through many changes of fortune and varieties of
Immor, I have watched you steadily &1L Fifteen
years ago you would have started at a theft. Three
years back you would have blenched at the name of
znxirder. Is there any crime, is there any cruelty or
meanness, from which you still recoil? Five years
from now I shall detect you in the fact. Downward,
downward, lies your way; nor can anything but death
avail to stop you."

" It is true," he said, huskily ; " I have in some
degree complied with evil. But it is so with all: the
very saints, in the mere exercise of living, grow less
dainty, and take on the tone of their surroundings."

"I will propound to you cme simple question," said
the other; "and as you answer, I shall read to you
your moral horoscope. You have grown in many things
more lax ; possibly you do right to be so ; and, at any
account, it is the same with all men. But granting that,
are you in any one particular, however trifling, more
difficult to please with your own conduct, or do you go
in all things with a loose rein ? "

"In any one?" repeated Markheim, with an an-
guish of consideration. " No," he added, with despair,
" in none 1 I have gone down in all."

"Then," said the visitor, "content yourself with
what you are, for you will never change ; and the words

uigiuzeaoy Google

76 MARKEEIM.

of your part on this stage are irrevocably written
down."

Markheim stood for a long while silent, and indeed
it was the visitor who first broke the silence. '^That
being so/' he said, " shall I show you the money ? ''

"And grace?" cried Markheim.

" Have you not tried it ? " returned the other.
" Two or three years ago, did I not see you on the plat-
form of revival meetings, and was not your voice the
loudest in the hymn?"

"It is true," said Markheim; "and I see dearly
what remains for me by way of duty. I thank you
for these lessons from my soul ; my eyes are opened,
and I behold myself at last for what I am."

At tliis moment, the sharp note of the door-bell
rang through the house; and that visitant, as though
this were some concerted signal for which he had be^
waiting, sprang instantly upon his feet.

"The maid!" he cried. "She has returned, as I
forewarned you, and there is now before you one more
difficult passage. Her master, you must say, is ill ; you
must let her in, with an assured but rather serious coun-
tenance — ^no smiles, no overacting, and I promise you
success 1 Once the girl within, and the door closed, the
same dexterity that has already rid you of the dealer will
relieve you of this last danger in your path. Thence-
forward you have the whole evening — the whole night,
if needful — to ransack tiie treasures of the house and to

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MARKHEIM. 77

xnake good your safety. This is help tliat comes to
you ivitli the mask of danger. TTpP' he cried; ^*up,
d&iend ; your life hangs trembling in the scales : up, and
act I"

Markheim steadily regarded his counselor. ^^ If I be
condenmed to evil acts," he said, ^^ there is still one door
of freedom open — ^I can cease from action. K my life
1>e an ill thing, I can lay it down. Though I be, as you
cay truly, at the beck of every small temptation, I can
yet, by one decisive gesture, place myself beyond the
reach of all. My love of good is damned to barrenness \
it may, and let it be I But I have still my hatred of
evil ; and from that, to your galling disappointment, you
shall see that I can draw both energy and courage."

The features of the visitor began to undergo a won-
derful and lovely change : they brightened and softened
with a tender triumph, and even as they brightened,
faded and dislimned. Eut Markheim did not pause to
watch or understand the transformation. He opened the
door and went down-stairs very slowly, thinking to him-
self. His past went soberly before him ; he beheld it as
it was, ugly and strenuous like a dream, random as
chance-medley — a scene of defeat. life, as he thus re-
viewed it, tempted him no longer; but on the further
side he perceived a quiet haven for his bark.

He paused in the passage, and looked into the shop,
where the candle still burned by the dead body. It was
strangely silent. Thoughts of the dealer swarmed into

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78 MARKHEIM.

his mind) aa he stood gazing. And then the bell
more broke ont into an impatient clamor.

He confronted the maid npon the threshold wiA
something like a smile.

" Ton had better go for the police/' said he ; "I have
killed your mast^.''

There was another long paose at the end of the Komancer's ^617,
and no one seemed inclined to carry the dehate between Mr. Maii-
heim and his strange viiritant beyond the point where the narrator
had left it. The Critic, indeed, meditatively slid in an epigrm,
and whispered to the Editor, *'Foe with a moral sense superadded,
by Jove I " but that gentleman only frowned abstractedly. "Irt
graesome,'* growled the Tragedian ; " that jovial fellow battering at
the gate ; why, it reminds one of the knocking in * Macbeth,' and
answers much the same purpose '' ; and he seemed to be makiag
mental notes, *'with a view," as Mr. Gladstone would say, "to
future operations." Indeed, the story held the company with a
strong fascination, and each member of it could not but feel glad
that he could keep his face as weU as his thoughts from his neigb-
bor's curious gaze, as in the fast gathering darkness he pondered on
the strange problems it suggested. The train of half melanchdy,
half morbid speculation might have gone on for some time, had it
not been broken by the low '* Good-night " of Beatrieey as sha
glided, a dim mass of drapery, from the circle. There was no
thought of further association after the star of that small society
had withdrawn, and with one accord the party broke up. As the
Critic descended, an hour later, to the lower deck, he thoaght he
caught a glimpse of the Eminent Tragedian making a wOd pass
in the air, which at once recalled the terrible deed in the deal-
er's shop. A warning cough, however, put a stop to these demon-
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MABKHEIM. 79

stratioiis, and when tbe Oritio i^proaohed his companion the
^eat man's face wore its usual impassive expression. Perhaps, after
ally tlie flickering shadows had deceived him..

The morning rose hright and clear, hut it hrought no relief to
tbe belated passengers of the Bava/ria. The long roll of the un-
created waves, as thej moved slowly imder and past the vessel, as
if bent on some unknown and distant goal, seemed to remind them
of tbeir helpless condition, and the sight chafed the more active
spurits into discontent The Oaptain was not approachahle, and
replied with uninteUigihle grunts to ohseqaious remarks ahout the
weather. The Oritio said several words which, as Beatrice shook
ber finger at him reprovingly, were presumably in the Norwegian
tongue. The Editor read his Flaubert with something of a protest
in bis air. Those who kept diaries filled them up to date, and
tbose who did not, pretended they had already done so. The Emi-
nent Tragedian paced the deck, and smoked cigar after cigar in
moody silence, the Oritio occasionally following him with rather
fearful glances. Only the lady was charming as ever, and set her
small court skimming oyer the decks and tumbling down the com-
panion ladder on her behests, crowning all her audacities by dis-
patching the Oritic — a somewhat shy man — ^in search of the dread-
ful Oaptain, with an imperative message to "Oome here at once,
and tell us when we are going to get out of this.'' He came, and
grimness was gentleness itself in that presence. By dint of these
small expedients time passed on and brought the dinner-hour with
it, and as dinners on the Baoaria are as good as everything else on
tbat model establishment, the company grew fairly cheerful again.
After all, they were in excellent case. They might all be in search
of a new Atlantis—an earthly paradise with no (printer's) devil to
mar its bliss, a place where first nights were not, and chicken and
champagne had never been heard of— so magnificently independent
were they of old ties of business and pleasure. They had nothing

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80 MARKHEIM.

to do but gently to climb up the olimbing wave, and gently (with
Bome slight qualms, it is true) to climb down again. And bo they
were merry, and the clever men said good things quite as if they
had jnst thought of them, and the ladies laughed — oh, what a dl-
yery laugh had Beatrice I — and the soup was spilled into the awk-
ward oue^s lap, and the wine weut round. The meal over, the little
knot, which had already found so much pleasure in one another^s
company, came together again, like bunches of drifting seaweed, and
then again there was the pleasant interchange of jest and quip —
men's wits have a keener edge on them after dinner — and at length
the call for a story. This time the demand was made on a young-
ish man, wbo, though a twinkling eye showed the humorist, had sat
quiet and absorbed through the fun. '^ Tis not a merry tale that is
running in my head," said he. ^* ' I am never merry when I hear
sweet music,' " quoth Beatrice^ with a little bow. *' Madam,'' he
replied, '' the music that is in my ears is that of a young Yoice now
still in death " ; and without further ado he began :

d by Google

MAEJORY.

Bt f. anstey.

It is not without an effort that 1 have resolved to
break, in the course of this narrative, the reserve main-
tained for nearly twenty years. But the chief reason for
silence is removed, now that those are gone who might
have been pained or harmed by what I have to tell, and,
though I shrink still from reviving certain memories that
are fraught with pain, there are others associated the^
with in which I shall surely find consolation and relief.

I must have been about eleven at the time I am writ-
ing of, and the change whicb — for good or ill — comes
over most boys' lives had not yet threatened mine. I
had not left home for school, nor did it seem at all prob-
able thisn that I should ever do so.

When I read (I was a great reader) of Dotheboys
Hall and Sajem House — a combination of which estab-
lishments formed my notion of school-life — ^it was with
no more personal interest than a cripple might feel in
perusing the notice of an impending conscription, for
from the battles of school-life I was fortunately ex-
empted.

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8^ MABJ0R7.

I was the onlj son of a widow, and we led a seclu^d
life in a London snbnrb. Hj mother took charge of toj
education herself and, as far as mere acquirements went,
I was certainly not behind other boys of my age. I owe
too much to that loving and careful training, Heay^lL
knows, to think of casting any reflection upon it hei^
but my surroundings were such as almost necessarily to
exclude all bracing and hardening influences.

Hy mother had few friends; we were content witli
our own companionship, and of boys I knew and cared
to know nothing; in fact, I regarded a strange boy with
much the same unreasoning aversion as many excellent
women feel for the ordinary cow.

I was happy to think that I should never be called
upon to associate with them ; by and by, when I out-
grew my mother^s teaching, I was to have a tutor, per-
haps even go to college in time, and when I became a
man I was to be a curate and live with my mother in a
clematis-covered cottage in some pleasant village. -

She would often dwell on this future with a tend»
prospective pride : she spoke of it on the very day that
saw it shattered forever.

For there came a morning when, on going to her
with my lessons for the day, 1 was gladdened with an
unexpected holiday. I little knew then — though I was
to learn so soon — ^that my less<His had been all holidays,
or that on that day they were to end forever.

My mother had had one or two previous attacks of an

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MABJOST. 88

illness whiek seemed to prostrate her for a short period,
and as she soon regained her ordinary health, I did not
think they could be of a serious nature.

So I devoted my holiday cheerfully enough to the
illumination of a text, on the gaudy coloring of which I
found myself gazing two days later with a dull wonder,
as at the work of a strange hand in a long dead past, for
the boy who had painted that was a happy boy who had
a mother, and for two endless days I had been alone.

Those days, and many that followed, come back to
me now but vaguely. I passed them mostly in a stat« of
blank bewilderment caused by the double sense of same-
ness and strangeness in everything around me; then
there were times when this gave way to a passionate an-
guish which refused all attempts at comfort, and times
even — ^but very, very seldom — when I almost forgot
wliat had happened to me.

Our one servant remained in the house with me, and
a friend and neighbor of my mother's was constant in
her endeavors to reUeve my loneliness, but I was impa-
tient of them, I fear, and chiefly anxious to be left alone
to indulge my melancholy unchecked.

I remember how, as autumn began, and leaf after
leaf fluttered down from the trees in our little garden, I
watched them fall with a heavier heart, for my mother
had known them, and now they, too, were deserting me.

This morbid state of mind had lasted quite long
enough when my uncle, who was my guardian, saw fit to

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84 MABJORT.

put a sommaiy end to it by sending me to school fortb-
with ; he wonld have softened the change for me by tak-
ing me to his own home first, bnt there was illness of
some sort there, and this was out of the question.

I was neither sorry nor glad when I heard of it, for
all places were the same to me just then ; only, as the
time drew near, I began to regard the future with a
growing dread.

The school was at some distance from London, and
my uncle took me down by rail ; but the only fact I
remember connected with the journey is that there was
a boy in the carriage with us who cracked walnuts all the
way, and I wondered if he was going to school, too, and
concluded that he was not, or he would hardly eat quite
so many walnuts.

Later we were passing through some wrought-iron
gates, and down an avenue of young chestnuts, under a
joyous canopy of scarlet, amber, and orange, up to a fine
old red-brick house, with a high-pitched, brown roo:^
and a cnpola in which a big bell hung, tinted a warm
gold by the afternoon sun.

This was my school, and it did not look so very ter-
rible after aU. There was a big bow-window by the
pillared portico, and, glancing timidly in, I saw a girl of
about my own age sitting there, absorbed in the book
she was reading, her long brown hair drooping over her
cheek and the hand on which it rested.

She glanced up at the sound of the door-beli, and I

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MABJORT. 85

felt Iier eyes examining me fierionslj and critieallj, and
then I forgot everything but the fact that I was being
introduced to my fature schoohnaster, the Bev. Basil
Dering.

This was less of an ordeal than I had expected ;
he had a strong, massively-cat, leonine face, free and
abundant white hair, streaked with dark gray, but there
was a kind light in his eyes as I looked up at them,
and the firm mouth could smile, I found, pleasantly
enough.

Mrs. Bering seemed younger, and, though handsome,
had a certain stateliness and decision of manner which
put me less at my ease, and I was relieved to be told I
might say good-by to my uncle, and wander about the
grounds as I liked.

I was not surprised to pass through an empty school-
room, and to descend by some steep stairs to a deserted
playground, for we had been already told that the
Michaelmas holidays were not over, and that the boys
would not return for some days to come.

It gave me a kind of satisfaction to think of my re-
semblance, just. then, to my favorite, David Copperfield ;
but I was to have a far pleasanter companion than poor,
lugubrious, flute-tootling Mr. Mell, for as I paced the
damp paths paved with a mosaic of russet and yellow
leaves, I heard light footsteps behind me, and turned to
find myself face to face with the girl I had seen at the
window. , - - - - .-.

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8Q MABJORT.

She stood there breatitkless for an instant, for she Iwl
hurried to overtake me, and i^nst a baekgroond «f
crimson creepers I saw the brilliant face, with its soft
bat fearless brown eyes, small, straight nose, spirited
mouth, and crisp, wavy, golden-brown hair, which I see
now as distinctly while I write.

"You're th^ new boy," she said at length, "Tve
come out to make you feel more at home. I suppose
you don't feel quite at home just yet!"

" Not quite, thank you," I said, lifting my cap with
ceremony, for I had been taught to be particular about
my manners ; " I have never been to school before, you
see, Miss Bering."

I think she was a little puzzled by so much polite*
ness. "I know,'- she said, softly; "mother told me
about it, and I'm very sorry. And Fm called Marjory,
generally. Shall you like school, do you think?"

«I might," said I, «if— if it wasn't for the boysl"

*^ Boys aren't bad," she said ; " ours are rather nice,
I think. But perhaps you don't know many?"

"I know one," I replied.

"How old is A^f " she wished to know.

" Not very old— about three, 1 think," I said. I had
never wished till then that my only male acquaintance
had been of less tender years, but I felt now that he
was rather small, and saw that Marjory was of the same
opinion.

"Why, he's a babyl" she said; "I thought you

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liABJORT. 87

meant a real boj. And is that all the boys yoa know!
Are you fond of games?"

^ Some games — ^veiy," said L
<* What's your favorite game!" she demanded.
** Beziqne," I answered, " or dranghts."
^^ I mean <n^^oor games ; draughts are in*door games
— is in-door games, I mean — ^no, are an in-door game —
and that doesn't sound grammar ! But haven't you ever
played cricket! Not ever, really! I like it dreadfully
myself, only I'm not allowed to play with the boys, and
Pm sure I can bat well enoagh for the second eleven —
Cartwright said I could last term — and I can bowl round-
hand, and it's all no use, just because I was bom a girl I
Wouldn't you like a game at something ! They havei\'t
taken in the croquet-hoops yet ; shall we play at that ! "
But again I had to confess my ignorance of what
was then the popular garden game.

"What do you generally do to amuse yourself,
then!" she inquired.

" I read, generally, or paint texts or outlines. Some-
times" — (I thought this accomplishment would surely
appeal to her) — "sometimes I do woolwork 1"

«I don't think I would tell the boys that," she
advised rather gravely; she evidently coniddered me a
very desperate case. " It's such a pity, your not knowing
any games. Suppose I taught you croquet, now ! It
would be something to go on with, and yoall soon leam
if you pay attention and do exactly what I tell you."

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88 MABJ0B7.

I submitted myself meekly to her direction, and
Marjory enjoyed her office of instructress for a tini%
until my extreme slowness wore out her patience, and
she began to make little outbursts of disgust, for which .
she invariably apologized. "That's enough for to-day P
she said at last ; " I'll take you again to-morrow. Sot
you really must try and pick up games, Cameron, or
you'll never be liked. Let me see, I wonder if there's
time to teach you a little foot-ball. I think I could do
that."

Before she could make any further arrangements
the tea-bell rang; but when I lay down that night in
my strange, cold bed, hemmed round by other beds,
which were only less formidable than if they had been
occupied, I felt less friendless than I might have done,
and dreamed all night that Marjory was teaching me
something I understood to be cricket, which, however,
was more Uke a bloated kind of backgammon.

The next day Marjory was allowed to go out walk-
ing with me, and I came home feeling that I had
known her for quite a long time, while her manner
to me had acquired a tone even more protecting than
before, and she began to betray an* anxiety as to my
school prospects which fOled me with uneasiness.

"I am so afraid the boys won't like the way you
talk," she said on one occasion.

" I used to be told I spoke very correctly," I €aid,
verdantly enough.

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MABJOBT. 89

^^ Cat not like boys talk. You see, Cameron, I
ought to know, with such a lot of them abont. I tell
you -what I could do, though, I could teach you most
of tbeir words— -only I must run and ask mother first
if I may. Teaching slang isn't the same as using it
on my own account, is it?**

Marjory darted off impulsively to ask leave, to re-
turn presently with a slow step and downcast face.
" I mayn't,'* she announced. " Mother says * Certainly
not ' ; so there's an end of that ! Still, I think myself
it's a decided pity."

And more than once that day she would observe, as
if to herself, " I do wish they had let you come to school
in different collars ! "

I knew that these remarks, and others of a similar
tendency, were prompted by her interest in my welfare,
and I admired her too heartily already to be offended by
them : still, I can not say they added to my peace of
mind.

And on the last evening of the holidays she said
"Good-night" to me with some solenmity. "Eveiy-
thing will be different after this," she said ; " I sha'n't
be able to see nearly so much of you, because I'm not
allowed to be much with the boys. But I shall be look-
ing after you all the time, Cameron, and seeing how you
get on. And oh ! I do hope you will try to be a popular
kind of boy!"

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90 MABJOBT.

I'm afraid I must own that this desire of Marjoiy's
was not realized. I do not know that I tried to be — and
I eertainlj was not — ^a popular boy.

The other boys, I now know, were by no means bad
specim^is of the English schoolboy, as will be eyident
when I state that, for a time, my deep monming ww
held by them to give me a claim to their forbearance.

Bnt I had an nnf ortnnate tendency to sudden floocb
of tears (apparently for no caose whaterer, really iiom
some secret spring of association, such as I remember
was touched when I first found myself learning Latin
from the same primer over which my mother and I had
puzzled together), and these outbursts at first aroused my
companions' contempt, and finally their open ridicule.

I could not conceal my shrinlring dislike to their
society, which was not calculated to make them more
favorably disposed toward me ; while my tastes, my ex-
pressions, my ways of looking at things, were all at total
variance with their own standards.

The general disapproval might well have shown itself
in a harsher manner than that of merely ignoring my
existence — and it says much for the tone of the school
that it did not; unfortunately, I felt their indifference
almost as keenly as I had dreaded their notice.

From my master I met with more favor, for I had
been thoroughly well grounded, and found, besides, a
temporary distraction in my school-work; but this -was
hardly likely to render me more beloved by my fellows.

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MABJORT. 91

and 80 it came to pass that' eveiy day saw my isolation
more complete.

Sometiiing, however, made me anxious to hide this
from Marjory's eyes ; and whenever she happened to be
looking on at ns in the school-grounds or the playing-
fields, I made dismal attempts to appear on terms of
eqnality with the rest, and would hang about a group
with as much pretense of belonging to it as I thought
prudent.

If she had had more opportunities of questioning me,
she would have found me out long before ; as it was, the
only occasion on which I was near her was at the weekly
drawing-lesson, when, although she drew less and talked
more than the Professor quite approved o^ she was
obliged to restrict herself to a conversation which did
not admit of confidences.

But this negative, neutral-tinted misery was not to
last ; I was harmless enough, but then to some natures
nothing is so offensive as inoffensiveness. My isolation
was certain to raise me up an enemy in time, and he
canae in the person of one Clarence Ormsby.

He was a sturdy, good-looking fellow, about two years
older than myself, good at games, and though not brill-
iant in other respects, rather idle than dull ; he was popu-
lar in the school, and I believe his general disposition was
by no means bad ; but there must have been some hidden
flaw in his nature which might never have disclosed it-
self for any other but me.

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92 21AMJ0ET.

For me he had displayed, almost from the first, one
of those special antipathies that want bnt little excuse to
ripen into hatred. Hj personal appearance— I had the
misfortune to be a decidedly plain boy — ^happened to be
particularly displeasing to him, and, as he had an unspar-
ing tongue , he used it to cover me with ridicule, untfl
gradually, finding that I did not retaliate, he indulged in
acts of petty oppression, which, though not strictly bully-
ing, were more harassing and humiliating.

I suspect now that if I had made ever so slight a
stand at the outset, I should have escaped further moles-
tation, but I was not pugnacious by nature, and never
made the experiment ; partly, probably, from a theory on
which I had been reared that all violence was vulgar, but
chiefly from a tendency, unnatural in one of my age and
sex, to find a sentimental satisfaction in a certain degree
of unhappiness.

So that I can neither pity myself nor expect pity from
others for woes which were so essentially my own crear
tion, though they resulted, alas ! in misery that was not
artificial.

It was inevitable that quick-sighted Marjory should
discover the subjection into which I had fallen, and her
enlightenment was brought about in this manner : Orms-
by and I were together alone, shortly before morning
school, and he came toward me with an exercise of mine
from which he had just been copying his own, for we
were in the same classes, despite the difference in our

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MABJORT. 93

ages, and he was in the habit of profiting thus by my in-
dustry.

'* Thanks, Cameron/' he said, with a sweetness which
I distrusted, for he was not, as a rule, so lavish in his
gratitude. ^' IVe copied ont that exercise of yours, but
it's ^written so beastly badly that you'd better do it
again.''

With which he deliberately tore the page he had been
copying from to scraps, which he threw in my face, and
strolled out and down to the play-ground.

I was preparing submissively to do the exercise over
again as well as I could in the short time that was left,
when I was startled by a low ciy of indignation, and
looking round, saw Marjory standing in the doorway,
and knew by her face that she had seen all.

" Has Ormsby done that to you before ? " she in-
quired.

" Once or twice he has," said I.
" And you let him ! " she cried. " Oh, Cameron I "
"What can I do?" I said.
" I know what / would do," she replied. " I would
slap his face, or pinch him. I wouldn't put up with
iti"

"Boys don't slap one another, or pinch," I said, not
displeased to find a weak place in her knowledge of us.

"Well, they do something /^^ she said; "a real boy
would. But I don't think you are a real boy, Cameron.
PU show you what to do. Where's the exercise that-
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U MARJORY.

that pig copied ) Ah 1 I see it And now— look!
(Here she tore his page as he had torn mine.)

*^Now for an envelope ! ^ and from the Doctor^s 01
desk she took an envelope, in which she placed the frag-
ments, and wrote on the ontside in her ronnd, chiUkh
hand, "With Marjory's compliments, for being a bnlly.^

" He won't do that again," she said, gleef nllj.

"He'll do worse," I said in dismay; "I shall have to
pay for it Marjory, why didn't you leave things alone!
I didn't complain — ^you know I didn't 1 "

She tamed upon me, as well she might, in snpreise
disdain. " Oh ! what a coward you are. I wouldn't be-
lieve all -Cartwright told me about you when I asked—
but I see it's all true. Why don't you stick up for yom^
self?"

I muttered something or other.

"But you ougM to. You'll never get on unless,''
said Marjory, very decidedly. " Now, promise me you
will, next time."

I sat there silent I was disgusted with myself, vA
meanly angry with her for having rendered me so.

"Then, listen," she said impressively. "I promised
I would look after you, and I did mean to, but it's no
use if you won't help yourself. So, unless you say you
won't go on being a coward any more, I shall have to
leave you to go your own way, and not take the least in-
terest in you ever again."

" Then you may," I said stolidly ; " I don't care." I

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MABJOBT. 95

wondered even wliile I spoke the words what could be
impelling me to treat spirited^ warm-hearted Marjory
like that, and I hate myself still at the recollection.

"Good-by, then/* she said very quietly; "Pm sorry,
Cameron." And she went ont withont another word«

When Ormsby came in, I watched him apprehensive-
ly as he read the envelope upon his desk and saw its con-
tents ; he said nothing, however, thongh he shot a malig-
nant glance in my direction ; but the lesson was not lost
upon him, for from that time he avoided all open ill-
treatment of me, and even went so far as to assume a
friendliness, which might have re-assured me, had I not
instinctively felt that it masked the old dislike.

I was constantly the victim of mishaps, in the shape
of missing and defaced books, ink mysteriously spilled or
strangely adulterated, and, though I could never trace
them to any definite hand, they seemed too systematic to
be quite accidental ; still I made no sign, and hoped thus
to disarm my persecutor — ^if persecutor there were.

As for my companions, I knew that in no case would
they take the trouble to interfere in my behalf; they
had held aloof from the first, the general opinion (which
I now perceive was not unjust) being that " I deserved
all I got.'*

And my estrangement from Marjory grew wider and
wider; she never spoke to me now when we sat near one
another at the drawing class ; if she looked at me it was
by stealth, and with a glance that I thought sometimes

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96 MABJOBT.

wafi contemptuously pitiful, and sometimes half f andai
betrayed a willingness to return to the old comradfr*
ship.

But I norsed my stupid, sullen pride, though my
heart ached with it at times. For I had now come to
love Marjoiy devotedly, with a love that, though I was*
boy and she was a child, was as genuine a passion as ai^
I have felt since.

The chance of seeing her now and then, of hGmag
her speak — ^though it was not to me — gave me the cat '
interest in my life, which, but for her, I could not hssm
borne. But this love of mine was a very f ar-ofE and dkh
interested worship, after all. I could not imagine mysetf
ever speaking of it to her, or picture her as accepting it;
Marjory was too thorough a <^ild to be vulgarized in
that way, even in thought.

The others were healthy, matter-of-fact youih^ to
whom Marjory was an ordinary girl, and who certainty
did not indulge in any strained sentiment respecting her;
it was left for me to idealize her ; but of that, at least, I
can not feel ashamed, or believe that it did me anything
but good.

And the days went on, until it wanted but a fortnight
to Christmas, and most of us were thinking of the com-
ing holidays, and preparing with a not unpleasant excite-
ment for the examinations, which were all that barred
the way to them now. I was to spend my Christmas
with my uncle and cousins, who would by that time he

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MARJORY. 97

aUe to receive me; but I felt no very pleasurable antici-
pations, for m J conons were all boys, and from boys I
thonglit I knew what to expect*

One afternoon Ormsby came to me with the request
that I would execute a trifling commission for him in the
adjoining Tillage ; he himself, he said, was confined to
bounds, butt he had a shilling he wanted to lay out at a
small fancy-shop we were allowed to patronize, and he
considered me the best person to be intrusted. I was
sunply to spend the shilling on anything I thought best,
for he had entire confidence, he gave me to understand,
in my taste and judgment. I think I suspected a design
of some sort, but I did not dare to refuse, and then his
manner to some extent disarmed me.

I took the shilling, therefore, with which I bought
some article — I forget what — and got back to the school
at dusk. The boys had all gone down to tea except
Ormsby, who was waiting for me up in the empty school-
room.

"Well?'*- he said, and I displayed my purchaEC, only
to find that I had fallen into a trap.

When I think how easily I was the dupe of that not
too subtle artifice, which was only half malicious, I could
smile, if I did not know how it ended.

*^How much was that?'' he asked, contemptuously,

" twopence-halfpenny ! Well, if you choose to give a

shilling for it, Tm not going to pay, that's all. So just

give me back my shilling 1 "
5

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98 MABJORT.

Now, as my weekly allowance consisted of three-
pence, which was confiscated for some time in advanee
(as I think he knew), to im)vide fines for my mysteii-
ously-stained dictionaries, this was out of the question,
as I represented.

" Then go back to the shop and change it," said he;
" I won't have that thing ! "

" Tell me what you would like instead, and I will,"!
stipulated, not unreasonably.

He laughed; his little scheme was working so admi-
rably. " That's not the bargain," he said ; " you're boiad
to get me something I like. I'm not obliged to tell you
what it is."

But even I was driven to protest against such flagrant
unfairness. "I didn't know you meant that," I said,
" or I'm sure I shouldn't have gone. I went to oblige
you^ Ormsby."

"No, you didn't," he said, "you went because I tdd
you. And you'll go again."

" Not unless you tell me what I'm to get,'" I said.

" I teU you what I believe," he said ; " you never
sp^nt the whole shilling at all on that ; you bought some-
thing for yourself with the rest, you young swindler.
No wonder you won't go back to the shop."

This was, of course, a mere taunt flung out by his in
ventive fancy, but as he persisted in it, and threatened
exposure and a variety of consequences, I became
alarmed, for I had little doubt that, innocent as I was,

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MABJOBT. 99

I ooBld be made yery uncomfortable by aocosatioDS
which would find willing hearers.

He stood there enjoying my perplexity and idly
twisting a piece of string round and round his fingers.
At length he said, " Well, I don't want to be hard on
you. You niay go and change this for me even now, if
you like. I'll give you three minutes to think it over,
and you can come down into the play-ground when I
sing out, and tell me what you mean to do. And you
had better be sharp in coming, too, or it will be the worse
for you."

He took his cap, and presently I heard him going
down the steps to the play-gronnd. I would have given
worlds to go and join the rest at tea, but I did not dare,
and remained in the school-room, which was dim just
then, for the gas was lowered, and while I stood there
ty the fireplace, trembling in the cold air which stole in
through the door Ormsby had left open, Marjory came
^ by the other one, and was going straight to her
father's desk when she saw me.

Her first impulse seemed to be to take no notice, bnt
something in my face or attitude made her alter her
^ind and come straight to me, holding out her hand.
"Cameron,'' she said, "shall we be friends again? "
'^Yes, Marjoiy," I said; I coidd not have said any
niore just then.

"You look so miserable, I couldn't bear it any
longer," she said, "so I hctd to make it up. You know

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100 MABJOBT.

I was only pretending crossness, Cameron, all the time^
because I really thonght it was best. But it doesnt
seem to have done you much good, and I did promise to
take care of you. What is it J Ormsby again ? "

" Yes," I said, and told her the story of the commis-
sion. .

" Oh, you stupid boy 1 " she cried, " couldn't you see
he only wanted to pick a quarrel I And if you change it
now, he'll make you change it again, and the next time^
and the next after that — I know he will 1 "

Here Ormsby 's voice shouted from below, "ITov
then, you, Cameron, time's up ! "

" What is he doing down there ? " asked Marjoiy, and
her indignation rose higher when die heard.

" Now, Cameron, be brave ; go down and tell him
once for all he may just keep what he has, and be
thankful. Whatever it is, it's good enough for Aim,
I'm sure!"

But I still hung back. " It's no use, Marjory ; he'll
tell every one I cheated him — ^he says he wiD 1 "

"That he shall notl" she cried; "I won't have it
I'll go myself, and tell him what I think of him, aad
make him stop treating you like this."

Some faint glimmer of manliness made me ashamed
to allow her thus to fight my battles. "No, Marjory,
not you ! " I said ; " I will go : Pll say what you want
me to say 1 "

But it was too late. I saw her for just a second at

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MABidBZ.: ::-'::-: JOl

".' z^*. :.. ::' \:r-l r"-: :/--

the door, my impetaonsi generous little Marjory, as she
flung back her pretty hair in a certain spirited way she
had, and nodded to me encouragingly.

And then — I can hardly think of it calmly even
now — there came a sharp soream, and the sound of a fall,
and, after that, silence.

Sick with fear, I rushed to the head of the steps, and
looked down into the brown gloom.

" Keep where you are for a minute 1" I heard Orras-
hy cry out ; " it's all right — she is not hurt ; now you can
come down."

I was down in another instant, at the foot of the
stairs, where, in the patch of faint light that fell from
the door above, lay Marjory, with Ormsby bending over
her insensible form.

"She's deadl" I cried in my terror, as I saw her
white face.

"I tell you she's all right," said he, impatiently;
"there's nothing to make a fuss about. She slipped
coming down and cut her forehead — ^that's alL"

"Marjory, speak to me — don't look like that; tell

me you're not hurt muchl" I implored her; but she

- only moaned a little, and her eyes remained fast shut.

"It's no use worrying her now, you know," said

Ormsby, more gently. " Just help me to get her round

to the kitchen-door, and tell somebody."

We carried her there between us, and, amid a scene
of terrible confusion tod distress, Marjory, still insensi-

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m ::- : XABJORY.

ble, wafl carried into the library, and a man sent ofi In
hot haste for the snrgeon.

A little later Ormsby and I were sent for to the
study, where Dr. Bering, whose face was white and
drawn as I had never seen it before, questioned us
closely as to our knowledge of the accident.

Ormsby could only say that he was out in the play-
ground, when he saw somebody descending the steps,
and heard a fall, after which he ran up and found Id^
jory.

" I sent her into the school-room to bring my pape^
knife,'' said the Doctor; "if I had but gone myself—
But why should she have gone outside on a frosty night
like this?"

«0h, Dr. Deringl" I broke out, "Tm afraid— Pm
afraid she went for me I "

I saw Ormsby's face as I spoke, and there was a look
upon it which made me pity him.

"And you sent my poor child out on your errand,
Cameron ! Could you not have done it yourself % '*

" I wish I had 1 " I exclaimed ; "oh, I wish I had 1
I tried to stop her, and then — and then it was too late.
Please tell me, sir, is she badly hurt I"

" How do I know ?" he said, harshly ; there, I can't
speak of this just yet : go, both of you."

There was little work done at evening preparation
that night ; the whole school was buzzing with curiosity
and speculation, while we heard doors opening and shut*

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MARJORY. 103

ting around, and the wheels of the doctor's gig as it
rolled np the chestnnt avenue*

I sat with mj hands shielding my eyes and ears, en-
gaged to all appearance with the books before me, while
my restless thoughts were employed in making earnest
resolutions for the future.

At last I saw my cowardice in its true light, and I
felt impatient to tell Marjory that I did so, to prove to
her that I had really reformed: but when would an
opportunity come ? I might not see h^ again for days,
perhaps not at all till after the holidays, but I would not
let myself dwell upon such a contingency as that, and,
to banish it, tried to picture what Marjory would say,
and how she would look, when I was allowed to see her
again.

After evening prayers, read by one of the assistant-
uiasters, for the Doctor did not appear again, we were
enjoined to go up to our bedrooms with as little noise as
possible ; and we had been in bed some time before Sut-
diffe, the old butler, came up as usual to put out the
lights.

On this occasion he was assailed by a fire of eager
whispers from every door: "Sutdiffe, hil old Sutty,
tow is she ? " but he did not seem to hear, until a cry
louder than the rest brought him to our room.

" For God's sake, gentlemen, don't ! " he said, in a
hoarse whisper, as he turned out the light ; "they'll hear
you down-stairs."

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104

MABJOBT.

"But how is she! do yon know— bettof

"Ay/* he said, "she*s better. She'll be o\rep
trouble soon, will Miss Marjory T'

A low mnrmnr of delight ran round the room, whic
the butler tried to check in vain.

" Don't 1" he said again, "wMt — ^wait till momingJ
... Go to sleep quiet now, and I'll come up first
and tell you."

He had no sooner turned his back than the general|
relief broke out irrepressibly, Ormsby being especiaUyl
demonstrative. ^^ Didn't I tell you fellows so!" he fiaid,!
triumphantly ; "as if it was likely a plucky girl like Mar- 1
jory would mind a little cut like that. She'll be allll
right in the morning, you see ! "

But this confidence jarred upon me, who could not
pretend to share it, until I was unable to restrain the
torturing anxiety I felt.

"You're wrong — all of you!" I cried; "Pm sure
she's not better. Didn't you hear how Sutdiffe said it!
She's worse — she may even be dying 1"

I met with the usual treatment of a prophet of eviL
" You young muff," I was told on all sides, "who asked
your opinion ! Who are you, to know better than any
one else!"

Ormsby attacked me hotly for trying to produce an
alarm, and I was recommended to hold my tongue and
go to sleep.

I said no more, but I could not sleep; the others

d by Google

MABJORT. 105

•Iropped off one by one, Ormsby being the last, bnt I ky
awake listening and thinking, until the dread and sus-
pense grew past bearing. I must know the truth. I
would go down and find the Doctor, and beg him to tell
me ;'he might be angry and punish me — ^but that would
be nothing in comparison with the relief of knowing my
fear was unfounded.

Stealthily I slipped out of bed, stole through the
dim room to the door, and down the old staircase, which
creaked under my bare feet. The dog in the yard
howled as I passed the big window, through which the
stars were sparkling frostily in the keen blue sky. Oat-
side the room in which Marjory lay I listened, but could
hear nothing. At least she was sleeping then, and, re-
lieved already, I went on down to the hall.

The big clock on a table there was ticking solemnly,
like a slow footfall ; the lamp was alight, so the Doctor
most be still up. With a heart that beat loud I went to
hifl study-door and lifted my hand to knock, when from
within rose a sound at which the current of my blood
stopped and ran backward — the terrible, heart-broken
grief of a grown man.

Boy as I was, I felt that an agony like that was
sacred ; besides, I knew the worst then.

I dragged myself up-stairs again, cold to the bones,
with a brain that was frozen too. My one desire was to
reach my bed, cover my face, and let the tears flow:
though, when I did regain it, no tears and no thoughts

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106 MARJORY.

came. I lay there and ehiyered for some time, with a
stony, stunned sensation, and then I slept — ^as if Marjoij
were well

The next morning the bell under the cupola did not
clang, and Sutcliffe came up, with the direction that im
were to go down very quietly, and not to draw up tie
window-blinds; and then we all knew what had hi^
pened during the night.

There was a very genuine grief, though none knew
Marjory as I had known her ; the more emotional wept^
the older ones indulged in little semi-pious conyentioDd
comments, oddly foreign to their usual tone ; all — even
the most thoughtless — ^felt the same hush and awe oye^
take them.

I could not cry ; I felt nothing, except a dull k^ at
my own insensibility. Marjory was dead — and I had no
tears.

Morning school was a mere pretense that day; we
dreaded, for almost the first time, to see the Doctor's
face, but he did not show himself, and the arrangements
necessary for the breaking up of the school were made
by the matron.

Some, including Ormsby and myself, could not be
*taken iu for some days, during which we had to remain
at the school : days of shadow and monotony, with occa-
sional ghastly outbreaks of the high spirits which noth*
ing could repress, even in that house of mourning.

The time passed at last, until it was the evening of

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MABJORY. 107

the day on wluch Marjory liad been left to her last

The poor father and mother had been nnable to staj
in the house now that it no longer covered even what
had been their child, and the only two, besides the ma-
tron and one or two servants who still remained there,
were Ormsby and I, who were both to leaye on the fol-
lowing morning.

I wonld rather have been alone just then with any one
but Ormsby, though he had never since that fatal night
taken the slightest notice of me; he looked worn and
haggard to a degree that made me sure he must have
cared more for Marjory than I could have imagined, and
yet he would break at times into a feverish gayety which
surprised and repelled me.

He was in one of these latter moods that evening, as
we sat, as far apart as possible, in the empty, firelit
school-room.

"Now, Cameron," he said, as he came up to me and
struck me boisterously on the shoulder, " wake up, man.
Fve been in the blues long enough. We can't go on
moping always, on the night before the holidays, too I Do
something to make yourself sociable — ^talk, can't you ? "

" No, I can't," I said, and, breaking from him, went
to one of the windows and looked vacantly out into the
blackness, which reflected the long room, with its dingy,
greenish maps, and the desks and forms glistening in the
fire-beams.

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108 MABJ0B7.

The ice-bonnd state in which I had been so long im
bIowIj passing away, now that the scene bj the little
grave that raw, cheerless morning had brought home le-
morselesslj the truth that Marjory was indeed gone, loBt
to me forever.

I conld see now what she had been to me ; how she
had made my great loneliness endurable ; how, with her
innocent, fearless natore, she had tried to ronse me from
spiritless and nnmanly dejection. And I coold never
hope to please her now by proving that I had learned
the lesson ; she had gone from me to some world infi*
nitely removed, in which I was forgotten, and my pitiful
trials and stru^les conld be nothing to her any morel

I was once more alone, and this second bereavement
revived in all its crashing desolation the first bitter loss
which it so closely followed.

So, as I stood there at the window, my nnnatnral
calm conld hold out no longer; the long-frozen tears
thawed, and I could weep for the first time since Mar-
jory died.

But I was not allowed to sorrow undisturbed ; I fdt
a rough grasp on my arm, as Ormsby asked me angrily,
" What was the matter now ? ^'

"Oh, Marjoty, come to me,^ I could only cry; "I
can't bear it 1 ''

" Stop that, do you hear ? " he said savagely ; " I won't
have it I Who are you to cry about her, when — ^but for
you — ^^

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UABJORT. 109

He got no &rther ; the bitter troth in snch a tannt,
eoming from Urn, stung me to nngoyernable rage. 1
turned imd strock him fall in the month, which I cnt
open with mj clinched hand.

His eyes became all pupiL " You shall pay me for
that ! " he said through his teeth, and, forcing me against
a desk, lie canght np a large Tnsqnare which lay near ; he
was far the stronger, and I felt myself powerless in his
grasp. Passion and pain had made him beside himself
for the moment, and he did not know how formidable a
weapon the heavily-weighted ruler might become in his
hand.

I shut my eyes : I think I rather hoped he would kill
me, and then perhaps I might go where Marjory was. I
did not cry for help, and it would have been useless if I
had done so, for the school-room was a long way from
the kitchen and offices of that rambling old house.

Bnt before the expected blow was dealt I felt his
grasp relax, and heard the ruler fall with a sudden clatter
on the floor. " Look," he whispered, in a voice I did
not recognize, " look there ! "

And when I opened my eyes, I saw Marjory standing
between us !

She looked just as I had always seen her : I think
that even the after-life could not make Marjory look
purer, more innocent and lovely than she was on earth.
My first feeling was a wild conviction that it had all been
some strange mistake — ^that Marjory was not dead.

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110 MABJ0E7.

"Oh, Marjory, Marjory!'' I cried in my joy, "is
really you ? Yon have come back, after all, and it is d(
troel"

She looked at ns both without speaking for a nu
ment; her dear brown eyes had lost their old childk
sparkle, and were calm and serious as if with a de^
knowledge.

Ormsby had cowered back to the opposite wall, cot
ering his face. " Go away 1 " he gasped. " Cameron-
you ask her to go. She— she liked you. ... I nevei
meant it. Tell her I never meant to do it ! "

I could not understand such terror at the sight of
Marjory, even if she had been what he thought her; but
there was a reason in his case.

" You were going to hurt Cameron," said Marjoiy, at
length, and her voice sounded sad and grave.

" I don't care, Marjory," I cried — " not now you are
here!"

She motioned me back : " You must not come near-
er," she said. " I can not stay long, and I must speak to
Ormsby. Ormsby, have you told any one ? "

. "No," he said, shaking all over; "it coxdd do no
good I thought I needn't"

"Tell Am," said Marjory.

" Must I ? Oh, no, no I " he groaned, " don't make
me do that!"

" You must," she answered, and he turned to me with
a sullen fear. "It was like this," he began: "that

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MABJ0B7. Ill

lit, when I was waiting for jon down there— I had some
ring, and it strack me, all in a moment, that it wonld
\ fun to trip you up. I didn't mean to hurt yon — only
%hten yon. I fastened the string across a little way
om the bottom. And then " — (he ha4 to moisten his

here before he conld go on) — " then she came down,
and I tried to catch her — and conldn't — ^no, I oonldn't 1 "

"Is that all?" asked Marjory, as he stopped short.

"I cut the string and hid it before yon came. Now
you know, and yon may teU if you like!"

" Cameron, yon will never tell, will you — ^as long as
he lives ?'* said Marjory. "Yon must promise."

I was horrified by what I had heard ; but her eyes
were upon me, and I promised.

"And yon, Ormsby, promise me to be kinder to him
after this."

He could not speak ; but he made a sign of assent.

" And now," said Marjory, " shake hands with him,
and forgive him, Cameron."

Bnt I revolted : " No, Marjory, I can't ; not now —
when I know this!"

"Cameron, dear," she said, "yon won't let me go
away sorry, will you I and I mnst go so soon. For my
Bake, when I wish it so 1 "

I went to Ormsby, and took his cold, passive hand.
"I do forgive him, Marjory," I said.

She smiled brightly at ns both. "And you won't
forget, either of you % " she said. "And, Qreville, yon

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113 ^ MABJORT.

will be brave, and take your own part now. Gk)od-by,
good-by."

I tried to reacli her. " Don't leave me ; take b»
with you, Marjory, dear. Dear Marjory, don't go!**
But there was only firelit space where she had stoo^
though the sound of her pleading, pathetic voice wis
still in the air.

Ormsby remained for a few minutes leaning against a
desk, with his face buried in his arms, and I heard liun
struggling with his sobs. At last he rose, and left the
room without a word.

But I stayed there where I had last seen Marjoiy, till
the fire died down, and the hour, was late, for I was glad
to be alone with the new and solemn joy that had come
to me. For she had not forgotten me where she was ; I
had been allowed to see her once more, and it might
even be that I should see her again.

And I resolved then that when she came she should
find me more worthy of her.

...... •

From that night my character seemed to enter upon
a new phase, and when I returned to school it was to
begin my second term under better auspices.

My cousins had welcomed me cordially among them,
and as I mastered the lesson of give and take, of respect-
ing one's self in respecting others, which I needed to
learn, my early difficulties vanished with the weakness
that had produced them.

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MARJORY. 113

By Ormsby I was never again molested; in word
and deed, he was trne to the promise exacted from him
dnring that strange scene. At first he avoided me as
being too painfully connected with the past, but by de-
grees, as he recognized that his secret was safe in my
keeping, we grew to understand one another better, al-
though it would be too much to say that we ever became
intimate.

After he went to Sandhurst I lost sight of him, and
only a few months since the news of his death in the
Soudan, where he fell gallantly, made me sorrowfully
aware that we should never meet again.

I had a lingering fancy that Marjory might appear
to me once more ; but I have long since given up all hope
of that in this life^ and iot what may come after I am
content to wait.

But the charge my child-friend had undertaken was
at an end on the night she was allowed to return to earth
aJid determine the crisis of two lives ; there is nothing
^ow to call the bright and gracious little spirit back, for
^er influence will never leave me.

^0 one seemed to know exactly what to say when the speaker's
"^Qice, which had heen growing lower and lower, ceased altogether,
^d the pathetic story of Marjory's love was at an end. It seemed to
^ listeners more like a personal confession than any of the pro-
^^^ng tales, and therefore they felt that literary criticism would be
^^^ of place. At length some one said— it was difficult to recog-
^^ the voice—" I should be surprised to learn that that boy's life

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114 MABJORT.

•

was not a noble and manly one, and I dare say a very happy od%
too. Sorely, hardly any greater blessing can befiall either man or
woman than to hare fonnd and loved an ideal, and tb^n to hm
had it removed while still wholly noble, and before any experience '
had come to prove it was but a poor actual after all, and b^on '
any hateful discovery had marred the perfect sincerity of worship.
I do not know whether this sounds cruel, but it seems true to me;
at least I can not think of any worse fate than to have given mii
self wholly in perfect faith to an ideal which one day had collapsed,
and stained everythiug else in Hfe with the dust of its miserable
fragments.^' ITobody ever knew who it was that spoke: some
thought it was Beatrice^ others maintained it must have been the
Bomancer.

The next day, before they were fairly awake in the morning, the
passengers of the Ba/oa/ria knew that they were running into a
st(H*m. During the night the motion of the vessel had gradnaOy
increased, and by the time it was daylight she was rolling heavilj,
and the dark'green water was above the port-holes half the time.
Below, the timbers creaked and groaned, things that were hong
against the waU stood out straight with an apparently ridicnlons
disregard of the law of gravitation, the crockery rattled, the stew-
ards stumbled heavily against the partitions as they made their
way along the gangways, the big portmanteaus chased the liUJe
ones all over the floor, and every now and then a great echoing
blow drowned every other sound, as a mountain of water came
thundering over the bows and went switching along the deck over
the heads of the scared passengers in their berths. To get up was
to face certain wretchedness ; and so everybody lay in bed, with or
without good cause, until late in the morning. The whole day was
a miserable one ; but in one way or another it passed, and the
weather moderating a little at night, the party, who now sought
each other out and clung together like magnetic particles, were

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MABJORY. 115

BOftted in a compact gronp in a comer of tbe companion-waj stairs.
*^ One thing is quite certain," Beatrice was sajing, ^* and that is, we
wfil not have another ghost-storj. We hare had three tales, and
three ghosts, and another in sach dreadful weather as this woald
be niore than anybody conld bear." *^ There is only one^person,"
remarked the Tragedian, " whom I feel I can thoroaghly depend
npon to carry out yoar wishes. Come," he added, taming toward
the Editor, " give ns a tale of love, or music" " Or both," pat in
the Bomancer. And with the promptitude which distinguishes his
craft, and the chivalry which is his personal characteristic, the
£ditor did.

d by Google

THE ACTIOK TO THE WORD.

By WALTEE heebies POLLOCK.

One of tLe greoAe&tp if not the greateatj of the so-
cial plea&urea of mj life has been derived from the
hours I have been privileged to spend with mj dear
old friend and teaeheij Yon CaruSj the violinist. The
pnblic knows him as a master of his art to a certain ex-
tent, and he has always been a favorite with them ; but
hiB BnceeBs and his jepntation have never been ol the
kind that his qualities should have commanded. Here
and there only will yon find a tme lover of mnsic who^
when this or that great name of a violia-magieian is
citedj will say half to himBelf if there be no sympathetic
soul by his side, "Tes, a fine player j but nothing ta
Ton Cams, if the public did bat know it." "Say
rather," I have heard another amateur add, "if he would
but let the public know it,"

It IB far from me to assert that the public was in tli€
wrong in this matter — ^almost as far as to assert that Yon
Carua was in tho wrong. All who have followed the
notes as true critics must have observed and have been
puzzled by such cases of mutual miBunderstanding^ be*

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TEE ACTION TO THE WORD. 117

tween artist and audience. Sometimes it comes from
what a French critic has called ^^ emotions qui ne de-
passent paint la rampe^^ and that the case is, I fear, fre-
quent, and grievous at least to the artist With Von
Cams it was not so ; the pnblic felt his emotion, and
wondered that it did not touch them more nearly ; he
felt that there was something wanting in his contact
with them, and — ^but I am trying vainly to describe what
BO description of mine can compass, and must fall back
on simple statement of fact derived from what I have
seen and heard. The large musical, really musical pub-
Kc— the public of the gallery when Italian opera was an
institution in England, and of the orchestra in St.
James's Hall now — said among each other, "This is
wonderful playing; why does it not touch us?** The
clevernstupid public of the stalls — ^the University young
nien and young women who had caught the cant of
music and knew one hair^s-breadth of it from the in-
tellectual side — said, " Admirable execution, but he can't
touch So-and-so's music," and, so saying, gave a half sigh,
half snort, which expressed extraordinary acquaintance
^th modem common-room talk, and fell gracefully back
into their chairs. Musicians simply wondered. I, whose
sole claim to the title of musician is due to the instruc-
tion of Von Garus himself, wondered with them, but
We wondered somewhat less since I heard one of the
many stories he has told me as friend to friend, not as
teacher to pupil.

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118 THE ACTION TO THE WORD.

He took few pupils — ^I can not get away from
fascinating " personality," as the modem school has i
and with those few he was not apt to be content,
think he approved of me merely because I had fai
omed the depth of my own ignorance, and canrie
him feeling that, if I were capable of learning at all
should learn from him more of the heart of the m
tery of music than years of the conventional teaching
l^d already partly acquired could give me.

"It is already something," he would say to me
the days of our first acquaintance, " to know that y<
know nothing of this wonderful thing called m
It has taken me more than half a lifetime to find
out, and you — ^you know it by instinct; and what
more wonderful, the teaching of the schools has va
deprived you of your instinct. Therefore, out of i
own ignorance I will give you whatever hint I can
the finding of the secrets of harmony and melody
not tell me" (I had not) "that the two can be separate
for the Spirit of Music." Then he would smoke si-
lently, and then he would give me a lesson profound in
knowledge, brilliant in illustration, burning with life and
passion. And then he would fall to smoking again, and
say with a half-assumed sadness, " But all this it is no
good to talk to the amateur who wants to find the rojil
road, that exists as much as the road to King Solomon's,
mines exists. And all this, weU 1 well I I can not ex-
press to the great public, that, say what you will, is after

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THE ACTION TO THE WORD. 119

all the best jndge.'^ With such sayings I. always left
him to commune in silence, and that is one strong reason
why our friendship never faltered.

However, it is not with this man, whom I loved
ahnbst as the pupil loved Seraphael in the beautiful
story of " Charles Auchester," that I have now to deal,
BO much as with one of the many stories that he told me
—the one that threw, to my thinking, the most light
upon his character and career. How he came to tell it
was thus : In one of my cherished evenings with him
our talk chanced upon "The Huguenots," and Von
Cams, who was one of the few German musicians who
deeply admired that Dumas (the father, not the son) of
opera, had illustrated some of the soprano passages with
the violin which was excellent in public, inspired in
private.

Presently he asked me to recall to him, as best I
could on the piano, the days when that great work drew
ft fit, though numerous, audience to listen to its fine
interpretation at the old Her Majesty's — ^the days when
neither lyric nor dramatic stage in England had been
ruined by star salaries and vulgar talk about "social
status." I played on. Von Cams occasionally stopping
me with a reproof or a hint, until we arrived at the last
a<it, the acl; which young opera-goers have nev^er*eeen on
the stage in England. As I began it Von Carus stopped
nie to remind me of this.

" So," he said, "you attack for me that great piece of

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120 THE AOTION TO THE WORD.

dramatic mnsic. So Uffs gut. And you woiider(;d.t
little time ago at the dying of grand opera on Englak
stages. Lieher Freund^ when they began to end that
opera with the scene of Valentine and Baonl, I knew
that opera, as opera should be, was doomed. That a tn»
Jew's music should be so truncated to suit the sham Jemi
who filled the stalls, and who wanted to catch their diitf
trains! lAeber Heir Jel'^^

So he subsided in inarticulate wrath, and I went
on playing until I came to that soul-stirring prayer of
Marcel's in which he and his companion see hearai
opening to them in its glory, even amid the puny thim-
der and turmoil of earthly persecution. I began tlie
first notes and stopped, overcome by the remembrance
of the extraordinary effect the scene had produced
upon me when I had last heard it, in the old days
when music was the real object of the Italian opera in
London.

"I can.not help stopping," I said, "to ask you if I
am right in thinking that Sponzini, the last singer <tf
Marcel whom I heard in that scene, was as great an
artist as one could wish to hear and see}"

"You are right," answered Von Carus; "he was,
short of Lablache, the greatest expression of that won-
derful appeal that you can imagine. The English pub-
lic, then akeady brutalized for opera by the star and
stall system, did not taste him because he was not puffed,
and the virtiwsiy with some pedantry, refused bim full

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TEE ACTION TO TEE WORD. 121

recognition because, like Bonconi, he was not always sore
of his intoiiation. But he was a great singer and a great
actor. Mamma Tosi/' he added, mentioning the greatest
teacher and critic of singing this age has known, ^^ will
tell you the same if you ask her. But, mem Bester^ I
am glad for other reasons that you stopped to ask me
that question. It makes it more easy for me to beg you
Bot to go on with that scene.'^

"Am I wrong? " I began to ask, egotism overpower-
ing discretion, when he interrupted me with, " In your
playing, my child? No, that is well, very well for an
amateur. There are other reasons."

As he spoke the look of sadness that I had often
seen on his face came over it, and, what was unusual,
^;ed there. He sank back in his chair thinking and
puflSng heavily at his pipe. I, ashamed of my impulsive
question, struck one or two chords softly to prevent his
^^ niy ear from remembering discontentedly an un-
finished theme, and sat opposite to him awaiting his
^^ntinued silence or his speech.

" I will tell you,'' said Von Carus. " The thing itself

liappened just about the time when first Italian opera

^^^ased to be interpreted on English stages by Italians,

^hen the Babel-collection of French tenors, Polish or

German sopranos, Alsatian baritones and bassi, that odd

collection of Was Sie vmnschen in the way of singing

nationalities that went on for so many years had first

u. Then, in the early time, it was always Signor
6

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123 TEE ACTION TO TEE WORD. ^

and Signora in the bills, whatever the coantry of ii» "
singer, and that was at least as sensible as the siDjr kitf
of compromises they introduced afterward/*

This talk Yon Cams delivered, as I thought, ^witik t
somewhat exaggerated air of lightness and c<Hiseioii8 -Ir-
relevance, and 'when he went on he fell into a graver
tone as he said :

^^ Bat the beginning of the story I am going to tafl
you goes back many years farther than that; it goes
back, indeed, to the early days ot my own youth, wliea
I was a humble member of a small band at a small tlie-
atre in Qermany. SmaD, I mean, in its importance, 'bst
the stage was large enough — ^too large, indeed, for tiie
scanty chorus that our small State aid afforded. For ^bsb
town itself, it is one of which comparatively few Engl&h
opera-goers have heard; you who have traveled in- Gear-
many probably know it, and therefore I shall not try to
describe it exactly, any more than I shall give yon the
real names of the parties concerned. However,^' om^
tinned the violinist, " let me get on to the story without
more forewords. It is not an enticing one to tell, and I
would not tell it but to you.

" The first time I saw her was on a summer evening.
I had walked to the theatre through the streets of ^e
strange old-fashioned town, which always had to me sudi
an air of unreality, with the vague reminiscences of a
past royalty that hung about its operatic-looking build-
ings. I was tired both of the place and of my businei^

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THE ACTION TO TEE WORD. 123

A6r^ and the knowledge that a first appearance was to
td:e place that night had not roused me from my dreamy
discontent. She had appeared at other towns— of no
Bmopean fame — with success, and she came to our com-
pmj dk QasL A rehearsal had been arranged for the
morning, bnt she arrived late and tired, after the band
had been graoiooslj excused from dancing attendance
lor her don'btfal arrival any longer. She had gone
&^iigh the mere business of her scenes with the stage
^teanager, and of course she knew her words and music
^»dl enough to dispense in such a case with full rehearsal.
Eer name was— I will call her ErS,ulein della Mandola
'-^d she made her first appearance as Agatha in * Der
ReischUtz.'

^'^When she came on the stage I was still moody, and
was looking at nothing but my part of the score, whidi,
^ it seemed to me, I knew already too well. But her
^^^^ — ^when she began to sing then I looked up, and I
flaw ^n the stage the most beautiful, the most attractive
feature I have ever seen. Imagine her as you will from
%t description ; I will not attempt to describe her more
closely. For her voice— yon have heard Mdlle. Gerster ? '*
(I bowed assent)— ** well, it was a voice of that quality,
a^d the method was not unlike. I, looking back, still
*^^^ss^ that, with all technical faults of a beginner, the
^'^ness and charm of that representation have never
"®^n surpassed; but by this time you have guessed
*hat I fell madly in love with the Fi-Sulein at first

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124 TEE ACTION TO TEE WOED.

sight and hearing, and therefore I am still, with ibsk
memory yet clinging to me, what yon call a prejndwBl-
witness."

Yon Cams leaned back again, and seemed to gilt
himself np for a few moments to recollection befai«
he resumed his story.

" The impression she made npon me was, more m
less, that which she produced npon the whole audience-*
an instructed and critical audience enough, though, as I
teU you, it was not the kind of theatre where the trav^
ing impresario of past times was likely to be on the
lookout for a prodigy. But the sweetness and force rf
the voice ; the spontaneity, as it seemed, in singing and "
acting ; the modesty, both individual and artistic, wluA
tempered all the fire of the performance ; these thii^
made Delia Mandola a favorite at once, and led to hst
taking an engagement of several weeks. Every time die
sang, which was about twice a week, the house was full;
every time she made herself more and more admired asd
beloved ; and every time I, wretched fiddler that I W,
fell more in love with her, with a love that I never de-
clared, that I have never even spoken of till now. "What
would that have profited me to speak of it? She was
immeasurably out of my reach, I knew; and she Tfltf
that two years or so older than myself that naade it nat-
ural for her to treat me as a boy, to whom it was a caie-
less kindness to give a pleasant smile, and a pleasant
word when occasion offered. Besides — and, believe ine,

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V THE ACTION TO THE WORD. 125

ni^, that I was not ever jealous of this with a lover's

j-jMoHsj — very soon she and onr tenor for the season

■' &imd out each other's good qualities, and were under-

•tood by all of us in the theatre to be betrothed. It

would have been a pretty match ; he was half German,

half Italian, and had then, at least, from his German

. father, some solid qualities of wisdom and judgment,

which should have been valuable in their menage.

Ahl"

He stopped again, and I was beginning to ask a
question, which he answered before I had completed it
fa words.

"No, lieber Freund^^ he said; "that was not to be.
^ey parted at the end of the season, full of love and
■ ^STOBt in each other. Each was going to fulfill another
px)mi8ing engagement, and each looked forward to their
meeting on the great lyric stages of Europe to share tri-
^naphs deserved by talent and hard work, and to match
tiieir triumphs by those of a happy marriage. They
Were to correspond constantly, and there was to be no
black spot in their happy life. So she went to Italy ;
and then her dreams of extravagant success came true.
She was adored wherever she went, and the London en-
gagement came far sooner than she had expected it. He
Mt is a story so simple and so tragic, I can tell you it in
four words, and you will know what is coming — ^he lost
his voice."

Taken with what had gone before,* and especially

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126 THE ACTION TO THE WORD.

witli certain intcoiatioiis and gestnres of Yon^ as he had
spoken, the words were tragic enough^ and I gf^&mi
from them part, though not all of the sequel, whidi he
proceeded to tell me with the rapid utterance of a maa
who wishes to get quickly through a painful task. Hk
emotion caused him at times to speak in Jiis native Gte^
man, but I give lis words in English throughout. "I
heard of this misfortune, and I heard that when lie broke
the news to her, he received a letter from her full of &^
couragement and^ love, which made up as much as any-
thing could for his grief and disaj^intment. The& I,
too, went about to seek a better fortune as a violinist, and
in my little way as a composer, and save for news, now
and again, of the Delia Mandola's continued success, I saw
and heard nothing more of them directly, until I foo^d
myself playing a violin in the orchestra of the old Her
Majesty^s Theatre, that delightful theatre with the amb^
hangings. She had sung one or two parts, in which she
had completely captivated the English public, and she
had met me once or twice in and out of the theatre, and
had had her gracious smile and her kind words of old for
me, with the same innocent caressing manner that Ire-
m^nbered so well. I had been told that of late she had
put this manner and its charms to no very noble uses^
and though the man who told me so was my bosom
friend, it went near to being an ill thing either for hun
or for me that he had said it.

"WeU, let me get on. She was to appear for the

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THE ACTION TO THB WORD. 127

SxA time before an English public as Valentine in the
'JBbigaeBots,.? There were as many rehearsals as could
be mam^ged, and I^ who had never, seen or heard her in
this peat part, took, ^f coarse, a gres^t and special inter-
est in it. One day I met her after rehearsal, and in the
middle of paying her compliments and offering her at
her own request 4k hint h^re and there, I suddenly asked
ior lor newa of Eugen— ^that was the first name of the
t^or of the old dayi^ I could not guess at the moment
what impulse prompted me to do this, any more than I
<xmld tell why Ihad neyw asked after him in our former
meNiings. gbe started^ and in her face it was as if first
& storm of lightning and then a sudden weeping of rain
had epme. I dp not meaUithat she wept, but that there
^W ihQ rapid chtage^ from a «udden fury to a grief and
sadness as «;idd^. Then she drew herself up with the
^S^^J thai made her slight form so majestic on the
^t^ at peat monient$ of passion, and saying coldly that
she could give me no news upon this subject, she went
to her carriage, and left mo feeling humiliated. Five
^iAutes afterward I iai^w why I had asked her the
questicm.' .

"As the strange -looking crowd of chorus singers
Boggled out of the stage entrance, my eye was caught
^y one figure thslt; I had noticed vaguely at rehearsal, not
knowing why?! noticed it at all. I knew now. It was
Ettgen. I did not know whether I should do well to
speak to him or not, but he solved the question for me.

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128 THE ACTION TO THE WORD.

He recognized me, and came up to me with a hint in his
gait of the old grace and dash that had made peo^
speak of him as the <Hie tenor who might, perhaps, tab
the place of the King of all the Tenors. * What a
EaouV I thought to myself, *for her Valentine, if onlj
his voice had lasted ! ' * Herr Von Cams,' he said, as
he came close to me, *yon, I know, are not one to turn
your back on an old friend because his fortunes are
fallen.' I pressed his hand ; it was hot and trembling,
his face was pale, and there was a strange look in his
eyes. I said to him all the things that old friendship
could suggest, avoiding only one subject, and I persuaded
him to come to breakfast with me at once, feeling pretly
sure that he needed physical as well as mental sokee.
During the breakfast he resumed, but with an exaggera-
tion that could not but strike me, his old gayety of man-
ner, and told me, with a humor that had something bit-
ing in it, various adventures he had had since he had lost
his voice, and with it his hopes. As we smoked after
breakfast he suddenly became taciturn, and the sparkle
in his eyes gave place to the same fierce, heavy look that
had surprised me before. Suddenly he got up, said to
me, *I have written to her,' and went his way. That
was the only reference to her that passed between tib,
and its effect upon me was indescribably painful. The
next night but one was that of her first appearance as
Valentine, and in the intervening day I had no opportu-
nity of speaking either to her or to him ; indeed, he

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THE ACTION TO THE WORD. 129

iiemed to avoid me. On the afternoon before her ap-
fsarance I fell in with him; he looked paler, thinner,
' fifeore desperate than before. This time, again, he sought
me of his own accord, and said in a tone which appeared
to me terribly qniet, ^ It will be a triumph, an effect that
will never be forgotten,^ and again he disappeared swift-
ly withont giving me the chance of a reply. I confess to
you that I shuddered without knowing why, and was
ashamed of myself for doing so.

"Well, it was a great triumph. As scene followed
scene the Diva gained greater and greater feeling of
her part, greater and greater hold upon her audience.
Among the musicians between the acts there was but
one opinion, that this was the finest Valentine that the
stage had seen for years. In the excitement I clean
forgot Eugen.

" Then came that last scene. Sponzini, of whom you
spoke just now, then in the fullness of his youth and
power, delivered the prayer like one inspired, and she,
^th voice, action, and expression, shared the exaltation
that triumphs over impending death. San Bris came on
at the head of his detachment of King's troops and gave
the fatal order, *Del Ee in nome, Fuoco ! ' It was not
seen at first, it was not seen till the fall of the curtain
what had happened. Mein LiebeVy she was shot through
the heart, and among those of the King's troops also was
OBe who was dead."
' There was a pause.

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130 THE ACTION TO THE WO ED.

" Ko," continued Von Carus, answering my nnagkel-
question, ^Uhe shot was always attributed to acddezrf^'
and for him (for Eugen) there was no doubt he had heaii
disease. For the man who was at the time supposed p
be in dose relations with her, what matters it to speakt
But you do not wonder that I have strange and painfift
notions of the last act of the * Huguenots.' "

'^ What a sitnation I '* exclaimed the Eminent Tragedian and the
Critic simnltaneonsljy as the musical voice ot the narrator ceased.

" * The action to the word,' indeed," added the former.

" Poor thing I " said Beatrice tenderly, in a low voice ; " to liave
let a thoughtless love come into, her life, and then to expiate it
hj dying with the words of a sham one on her lips. What a sad
story I " And she rose and gathered her wraps together and went
below, all the men assisting her to the head of the gangway.

The following evening was starless hut serene. A veil spread
over the upper sky, but along the horizon lay banked-up clouds,
behind which summer lightnings played from time to time, throw-
ing them out into weird and spectral relief. The sea heaved in
long, lazy pulsations, and the waves were picked out with gold by
the lines of lambent phosphorescence along their drifting summits.
The wind was just suflScient to steady the ship, making her lie over
so little that she seemed almost to ride on an even keeL There was
a sense of languor over everything, which would have been delight-
ful had it not meant a beggarly account of knots in the twenty-foor
hours' run.

Our party assembled after dinner in the lee of the smoking-
room, through the windows of which sufficient light streamed forth
to make figures recognizable, though it left features in the vague.

"The Critic's story," cried the Novelist "Now," he added,

uigiuzeaoy Google

THE ACTION TO THE WORD. 131

tanking to the Romanoer, ''Frovidenoe hath delivered our enemy
into our hands. We are to have the satisfaction for which Job
longed in vain. Oar Oritic has written a book, or at least has con-
cocted & story."

" Not at all I " replied the Critic ; *' no concoction in the mat-
ter. It is an adyentore which befell an acquaintance of mine, and
I read it from his manuscript. He sent it me for my opinion, and
I promised to try and * place' it in America. I am curious to see
how it strikes yon."

^^Fiat experimentum-^ short," said the Romancer.

*4 did not put it in that way," returned the Oritic; and rising
so, as to let the lamp-light fall on the bundle of manuscript in his
hand, he read as follows :

d by Google

MY FASCINATING FRIEND.

Bt WILLIAM ABCHEB.

Natijee has cursed me with a retiring dispositioii
I have gone round the world without making a siBgle
friend by the way. Coming out of my own shell is
as difficult to me as drawing others out of theirs. There
are some men who go through life extracting the sab-
stance of every one they meet, as one picks out peri-
winkles with a pin. To me my fellow-men are oysters,
and I have no oyster-knife ; my sole consolation (if it
be one) is that my own valves absolutely defy the oy»-
t^-knives of others. Not more than twice or thrice in
my life have I met a fellow-creature at whose " Open
Sesame" the treasures of my heart and brain stood
instantly revealed. My Fascinating Friend was one of
these rare and sympathetic beings.

I was lounging away a few days at Monaco, await-
ing a summons to join some relations in Italy. One
afternoon I had started for an aimless and rambling
climb among the olive-terraces on the lower slopes of
the Tfete du Chien. Finding an exquisite coign of

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MT FABCmATING FRIEND. 133

vantage amid the roots of a gnarled old trunk springing
from a "built-up semicircular patch of level ground, I
sat me down to rest, and read, and dream. Below me,
a little to the right, Monaco jutted out into the purple
sea. I could distinguish carriages and pedestrians com-
ing and going on the chanss^e between the promontory
and Monte Carlo, but I was far too high for any sound
to reach me. Away to the left the coast took a mag-
nificent sweep, past the clustering houses of Rocca-
bruna, past the mountains at whose base Mentone nestled
nnseen, past the Italian frontier, past the bight of Venti-
miglia, to where the Capo di Bordighera stood faintly
outlined between sea and sky. There was not a soli-
tary sail on the whole expanse of the Mediterranean.
^ line of white, curving at rhythmic intervals along
a small patch of sandy beach, showed that there was a
gentle swell upon the sea, but its surface was mirror-
^e. A lovelier scene there is not in the world, and
it was at its very loveliest. I took the " Saturday Ee-
^ew" from my pocket, and was soon immersed in an
article on the commutation of tithes.

I was aroused from my absorption by the rattle of a
small stone hopping down the steep track, half path, half
stairway, by which I had ascended. It had been loosened
V the foot of a descending wayfarer, in whom, as he
picked his way slowly downward, I recognized a middle-
aged German (that I supposed to be his nationality) who
l^ad been very assiduous at the roulette-tables of the

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134 MY FASCINATING FRIEND.

Oasino for some days past. There was notbing remark-
able in his appearance, bis spectacled eyes, sqnat nose,
and square-cropped bristlidg beard being simply charac-
teristic of his class and country. He did not notice me
as he went by, being too intent on his footing to look
about him ; bat I was so placed that it was a minute or
more before he passed out of sight round a bend in die
path. He was just turning the comer, and my ey^ were
still fixed on him, when I was conscious of another figure
within my field of vision. This second comer had de-
scended the same pathway, but had loosened no stones
on his passage. He trod with such exquisite lightness
and agility that he had passed dose by me without my
being aware of his presence, while he, for his part, had
his eyes fixed with a curious intensity on the thick-set
figure of the German, upon whom, at his rate of prog-
ress, he must have been gaining rapidly. A glance
showed me that he was a young man of slender figure,
dressed in a suit x)f dark-colored tweed, of English cut,
and wearing a light-brown wide-awake hat. Just as my
eye feU upon him he put his hand into the inner breast-
pocket of his coat, and drew from it something which, as
he was now well past me, I could not see. At the same
moment some small object, probably jerked, out. of his
pocket by mistake, fell almost noiselessly on the path at
his feet. In his apparently eager haste he did noj; notice
his loss, but was gliding onward, leaving what I took to
be his purse lying on the path. It was clearly my duty

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MY FASCmATINQ FRIEND. ^^135

to call his attention to i( ; so I said, ^ Hi 1 " an interjec-
tion which I have f onnd serves its purpose in all countries.
He gave a perceptible start, and looked round at me over
his shoulder. I pointed to the object he had dropped,
and said, " VoUd ! " He had thrust back into his pocket
the thing, whatever it was, which he held in his hand,
and now turned round to look where I was pointing.
"Ah!'' he said in English, "my cigarette-case t I am
much obliged to you,'' and he stooped and picked it up.

" I thought it was your purse," I said.

" I would rather have lost my purse than this," he
said, with a light laugh. He had apparently abandoned
his intention of overtaking the German, who had mean-
while passed out of sight.

"Are you such an enthusiastic smoker!" I asked.

"I go in for quality, not quantity," he replied;
"and a Spanish friend has just given me some incom-
parable cigarritosP He opened the case as he ascended
the few steps which brought him up to my little plateau.
*'Have one?" he said, holding it out to me with the
most winning smile I have ever seen on any human
face.

I was about to take one from the left-hand side of
the case, when- he turned it away and presented the
other side to me.

"No, nol" he said; "these flat ones are my com-
mon brand. The round ones are the gems."

" I am robbing you," I said, as I took one.

uguzeaoy Google

136 MY FASCINATING FRIEND.

"Not if you are smoker enongh to appreciate it,^
he said, as he stretched himself on the gromid beside me,
and produced from a little gold match-box a wax vesta,
with which be lighted my cigarette and his own.

So graceful was his whole personality, so easy and
charming his manner, that it did not strike me as in
the least odd that he should thus make friends with me
by the mere exchange of half a dozen words. I Jooked
at him as he lay resting on his elbows and smoking
lazily. He had thrown his hat off, and his wavy hair,
longish and of an opaque charcoal black, fell over his
temples while he shook it back behind his ears. He
was a little above the middle hdght, of dark complex-
ion, with large and soft black eyes and arched eyebrows,
a small and rather broad nose (the worst feature in his
face), full, curving and sensitive lips, and a very strong
and rounded chin. He was absolutely beardless, but a
slight black down on the upper lip announced a coming
mustache. His age could not have been more than
twenty. The cut of his clothes, as I have said, was
English, but his large black satin neckcloth, flowing out
over the collar of his coat, was such as no home-keeping
Englishman would ever have dared to appear in. This
detail, combined with his accent, perfectly pure but a
trifle precise and deliberate, led me to take him for an
Englishman brought up on the Continent — ^probably in
Italy, for there was no French intonation in his speech.
His voice was rich, but not deep — a light, baritone.

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M7 FASCINATING FRIEND. 137

He toqk np my "Saturday Review.''
"The Bible of the Englishman abroad," he said.
**One of the institutions that make me proud of our
country."

"I have it sent me every week," I said.
" So had my father," he replied. " He used to say,
* Shakespeajre we share with the Americans, but, damn it,
the " Saturday Review " is all our own 1 ' He was one
of the old school, my father."

"And the good school," I said, with enthusiasm.
"So am L"

" Now, I'm a bit of a Radical," my new friend re-
joined, looking up with a smile, which made the confes-
sion charming rather than objectionable ; and from this
point we started upon a discussion, every word of which
I could write down if I chose, such a lasting impression
did it make upon me. He was indeed a brilliant talker,
having read much and traveled enormously for one so
young. " I think I have lived in every country in Eu-
rope," he said, " except Russia. Somehow it has never
interested me." I found that he was a Cambridge man,
or, at least, was intimately acquaiuted with Cambridge
life and thought ; and this was another bond between us.
His Radicalism was not very formidable ; it amounted to
little more, indeed, than a turn for humorous paradox.
Our discussion reminded me of Fuller's description of
the wit-combats between Ben Johnson and Shakespeare
at the " Mermaid." I was the Spanish galleon, my Faa-

• uigiuzeaoy Google

138 ^^ FASCINATING FRIEND.

cinating Friend was the English man-of-war, ready " to
take advantage of all winds by the quickness of his wit
and invention.^ An honr sped away delightfnUy, the
only thing I did not greatly enjoy being the cigarette,
which seemed to me no better than many I had smc^ed
before.

" What do you think of my cigarettes ? " ho said, as I
threw away the stump,

I felt that a blunt expression of opinion would be in
bad taste after his generosity in offering an utter strange
the best he had. " Exquisite 1 " I answered.

" I thought you would say so," he replied, gravely.
" Have another 1 "

"Let me try one of your common ones," I said.

" No, you shan't 1 " he replied, dosing the case with a
sudden snap, whicb endangered my fingers, but soften-
iDg the lymsquerie of the proceeding by one oi, his en-
thralling smiles; then he added, using one of the odd
idioms which gave his speech a peculiar piqimnc^, "I
don't palm off upon my friends what I have of second
best." He re-opened the case and held it out to nie. To
have refused would have been to confess that I did not
appreciate his "gems," as he called them. I smoked
another, in which I still failed to find any unusual fra^
grance ; but the aroma of my new-found friend's whole
personality was so keen and subtle, that it may have
deadened my nerves to any more material sensation.

We lay talking until the pink flush of ^v^ning spread

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MY FASCINATING FEIENDi 139

doDg the horizon, and in it Corsica, invisible before,
se^tned to body itself forth from nothingness like an
island of phantom peaks and headlands. Then we rose,
and, in the quickly gathering dusk, took our way down
among the olive-yards and through the orange-gardens to
Monte Carlo*

My acquaintance with my Fascinating Friend lasted
little more than forty-eight hoxma, but during that time
we were inseparable. He was not at my hotel, but on
that first evening I persuaded him to dine with me, and
Boon after breakfast on the following morning I went in
search of him ; I was at the Bnssie, he at the H6tel de
Paris. I found him smoking in the veranda, and at a
table not far distant sat the German of the previous aft-
ernoon, finishing a tolerably copious dej&A/ner a la four-
chette. As soon as he had scraped his plate quite clean
and fiiushed the la^ dregs of his bottle of wine, he, rose
and took his way to the Casino. After a few minutes'
talk with my Fascinating Friend, I suggested a stroll
ov» to Monaco. He agreed, and we si)ent the whole
day together, loitering and lounging, talking and dream-
ing. "We went to the Casino in the afternoon to hear
the concert, and I discovered my friend to be a culti-
vated musician. Then we strolled into the gambling-
room for an hour, but neither of us played. .The Ger-
man waa busy at one of the rouliette-tables, and seemed

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140 MY FASCINATma FRIEND.

to be winning considerably. That evening I dined with
my friend at the table cPhdte of his hotel. At the other
end of the table I could see the German sitting silent
and nnnoticing, rapt in the joys of deglutition.

Next morning, by arrangement, my friend called
upon me at my hotel, and over one of his cigarettes, to
which I was getting accustomed, we discussed our plan
for the day. I suggested a wider flight than yesterday's.
Had he ever been to Eza, the old Saracen robber-nest
perched on a rock a thousand feet above the sea, halfway
between Monaco and Villaf ranca ? No, he had not been
there, and after some consideration he agreed to accom-
pany me. We went by rail to the little station on the
sea-shore, and then attacked the arduous ascent. The
day was perfect, though rather too warm for climbing,
and we had frequent rests among the olive-trees, with de-
lightfully discursive talks on all things under the snn.
My companion's charm grew upon me moment by mo-
ment. There was in his manner a sort of refined co-
quetry of amiability which I found irresistible. It was
combined with a frankness of sympathy and interest
subtly flattering to a man of my unsocial habit of mind.
I was conscious every now and then that he was drawing
me out ; but to be drawn out so gently and genially was,
to me, a novel and delightful experience. It produced
in me one of those effusions of communicativeness to
which, I am told, all reticent people are occasionally sub-
ject. I have myself given way to them some three or

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MT FABOINATINa FRIEND. 141

four times in my life, and found myself pouring forth to
perfect strangers such intimate details of feeling and ex-
perience as I would rather die than impart to my dearest
friend. Three or four times, I say, have I found myself
suddenly and inexplicably brought within the influence
of some invisible truth-compelling talisman, which drew
from me confessions the rack could not have extorted ;
but never has the influence been so irresistible as in the
case of my Fascinating Friend. I told him what I had
told to no other human soul — ^what I had told to the lone-
ly glacier, to the lurid storm-cloud, to the seething sea,
but had never breathed in mortal ear — I told him the
tragedy of nay life. How well I remember the scene 1
We were resting beneath the chestnut-trees that shadow
a stretch of level sward immediately below the last short
stage of ascent that leads into the heart of the squalid
village now nestling in the crevices of the old Moslem
fastness. The midday hush was on sea and sky. Far
out on the horizon a level line of smoke showed where
^ unseen steamer was crawling along under the edge of
the sapphire sphere. As I reached the climax of my tale
an old woman, bent almost double beneath a huge fagot
of firewood, passed us on her way to the village. I re-
iQember that it crossed my mind to wonder whether
there was any capacity in the nature of such as she for
suffering at all comparable to that which I was describ-
ing. My companion's sympathy was subtle and soothing.
There was in my tale an element of the grotesque which

uigiuzeaoy Google

142 ^y FASCINATING FBIEND.

might have tempted a vxiTgar nature to flippancy* I9b
smile crossed mj companicm's lips. He tmned away his
heady on pretense of watching the receding %are of the
old peasant-woman. When he looked at me again, h&
deep dark ejes were sn&sed with a moisture which e&:
hanced the mystery of their tenderness. In that moment
I felt, as I had never felt before^ what it is to find a friend.
We returned to Monte Carlo late in the af temoon,
and I found a telegram at my hotel b^ging me to be in
Genoa the following morning. I had barely time to
bundle mj traps together and swallow a hasty meal
before my train was due. I scrawled a note to my new-
found confidant, expressing most sincerely my sorrow at
parting from him so soon and so suddenly, and my hope
that ere long we should meet again.

in.

The tnun was already at the platform when I reached
the station. There were one or two first-class through
carriages on it, which, for a French railway, were un-
usually empty. In one of them I saw at the window the
head of the German, and, from a certain subdued radi-
ance in his expression, I judged that he must be carrying
off a considerable "pile^' from the gaming-table. Hifl
personality was not of the most attractive, and there wa8
something in his squat nose suggestive of stertorous pofr
sibilities which, under ordinary circumstances, would

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MY FASCINATING FRIEND. 143

!bave held me aloof from him. Bat — shall I confess it ?
'^e had for me a certAin sentimental attraction, because
he wae associated in my mind with that first meeting
with my forty-eight-honrs' friend. I looked into his
compartment ; an overcoat and valise lay in the opposite
e<Hmer from his, showing that seat to be engaged, but
two comers were i^ill left me to choose from. I in-
^^ed myself in one of them, face to face with the valise
and bveircoat, and awaited the dgnal to start The cry
of "En voiture, messieurs!'' soon came, and a lithe
%Hre sprang into the carriage. It was my Fascinatii^
Friend 1 For a single moment I thought that a flash of
Anoyance crossed his features on finding me there, but
the impression vanished at once, for his greeting was as
ftill of cordiality as of surprise. We soon exchanged
explanatioiis. He, like myself, had been called away by
telegram, not to Genoa, but to Borne; he, like myself,
tad left a note expressing his heartfelt regret at our sud-
^ separation. As we sped along, skirting bays that
dxone burnished in the evening light, and rumbling
every now Mid then through a tunnel-pierced promon-
teiy? we resumed the almost affectionate converse inter-
rupted only an hour before, and I found him a more
deli^tful companion than ever. His exquisitely playful
^tasy seemed to be acting at high pressure, as in the
<5ase of a man who is talking to pass the time under the
stimulus of a delightful anticipation. I suspected that
ie was hurrying to some peculiarly agreeable rendezvous

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144 ^y FASCINATING FRIEND.

in Eome, and I hinted my suspicion, which he landed
off in such a way as to confirm it. The German, in the
mean time, sat stolid and unmoved, making some pen-
ciled calculations in a little pocket-book. He clearly did
not understand English.

As we approached Ventimiglia my friend, rose, took
down his valise from the rack, and, turning his back to
me, made some changes in its arrangement, whidi I, of
course, did not see. He then locked it carefully and
kept it beside him. At Ventimiglia we had all to turn
out to undergo the inspection of the Italian dogwm.
My friend's valise was his sole luggage, and I noticed,
rather to my surprise, that he gave the custom-honsd
official a very large bribe— two or three gold pieces—
to make his inspection of it purely nominal, and for^
the opening of either of the inside compartments. The
German, on the other hand, had a small portmanteau
and a large dispatch-box, both of which he opened with
a certain ostentation, and I observed that the official's
eyes glittered under his raised eyebrows as he looked
into the contents of the dispatch-box. On returning to
the train we all three resumed our old places, and the
German drew the shade of a sleeping-cap over his eyes
and settled himself down for the night. It was now
quite dark, but the moon was shining.

" Have you a large supply of the ^gerns ' in your va-
lise?" I asked, smiling, curious to know his reason for a
subterfuge which accorded ill with his ordinary stKUght-

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MY FASCINATING FEIEND. 145

lorwardness, and, remembering that tobacco is absolutely
piolubited at the Italian frontier.

"Unfortunately, no/' he said; "my * gems' are all
gone, and I have only my conunon cigarettes remaining.
Will you try them, such as they are t " and he held out
his case^ both sides of which were now filled with the
flat cigarettes. We each took one and lighted it, but he
began giving me an account of a meeting he had had
vith Lord Beaconsfield, whicb he detailed so fully and
^th so much enthusiasm that, after a whifi or two he
aWlred his cigarette to go out. I could not understand
Ufi^taste in tobacco. These cigarettes which he de-
spiseci seemed to me at once more delicate and more
peculiar than the others. They had a flavor which was
^uite unknown to me. I was much interested in his
vivid account of the personality of that great man, whom
I admired then, while he was yet with us, and whom,
ffl a knight of the Primrose League, I now revere ; but
onr climb of the morning, and the scrambling depart-
iire of the afternoon, were beginning to tell on me, and
I became irresistibly drowsy. Gradually, and in spite
of myself, my eyes closed. I could still hear my com-
panion's voice mingling with the heavy breathing of the
German, who had been asleep for some time ; but soon
even these sounds ceased to penetrate the mist of lan-
guor, the end of my cigarette dropped from between
my fingers, and I knew no more.

• ••••••

r

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146 MY FASOINATINa FRIEND.

"ilLy awakening was slow and spasmodic. There wad
a clearly perceptible interval — ^probably seyeral minntee
— ^between the first stirrings of consciousness and the
full clarification of my faculties. I began to be aware
of the nimble and oscillation of the train withont real-
izing what was meant. Then I opened my eyes aad
blinked at the lamp, and vagnely noted the yellow dl
washing to and fro in the bowl. Then the white
square of the "Avis aux Voyageurs'' caught my eye is
the gloom under the luggage-raek, and beneath i^oii
the seat, I saw the light reflected from the lodk.
German's portmanteau. Kext I was consdous
German himself still sleeping in his comer
longer puffing and grunting as when I had fallen
Then I raised my head, looked round the carriage &Sl
the next moment sprang bolt upright in dismay^^^

Where was my Fascinating Friend f ,*J*^

Gone ! vanished 1 There was not a l^-ace of hrliJ^^
valise, his great-coat, all had disappeared. Only* iil^%B
little cigar-ash box on the window-frame I saw the
cigarette which he had barely lighted — ^how long before!
I looked at my watch : it must have been about an hoar
and a half ago.

By this time I had all my faculties about me. I
looked across at the German, intending to ask him if he
knew anything of our late traveling-companion. Then
I noticed that his head had fallen forward in such a way
that it seemed to mo suffocation must be imminent I

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MY FA8CIFATING FRIEND, 147

l|i^roadied him, and pnt down mj head to look into his
Im6. Ab I did so I saw a roundish black object on the
^doth floor not far from the toe of his boot. The
hunp-Iight was reflected at a single point from its convex
ioif ace. I put down my hand and touched it. It was
fiqnid. I looked at my fingers — ^they were not black, but
ted* I think (but am not sure) that I screamed aloud.
I dirank to the other end of the carriage, and it was some
^ments before I had sufficient presence of mind to look
fcr a means of communicating with the guard. Of course

twas none. I was alone for an indefinite time with
I man. But was he dead ? I had little doubt, from
« way his head hung, that his throat was cut, and a hor-
™hf ascination drew me to his side to examine. No ;
^^Hpeas no sign of the hideous fissure I expected to
k ™ beneath the gray bristles of his beard. His head
' feil^rward again into the same position, and I saw with
hmoT that I had left two bloody finger-marks upon the
P^y shade of his sleeping-cap. Then I noticed for the
^fiwt time that the window he was facing stood open, for
** a gust of wind came through it and blew back the lappel
\ of his coat. What was that on his waistcoat ? I tore the
coat back and examined : it was a small triangular hole
just over the heart, and round it there was a dark circle
about the size of a shilling, where the blood had soaked
through the light material. In examining it I did what
the murderer had not done — disturbed the equilibrium
of the body, which fell over against me.

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us MT FASOINATING FEIEND.

At that moment I heard a loud yoice behind m€^
coming from I knew not where. I nearly fainted witli
terror. The train was still going at full speed ; the c(»a»
partment was empty, save for myself and the ghastly ob*
ject which lay in my arms ; and yet I seemed to hear a
Yoice abnost at my ear. There it was again ! I suiik
moned up courage to look round. It was the guard o£ .
the train clinging on outside the window and demanding
"Bigliettil" By this time he, too, saw that something
was amiss. He opened the door and swung himself into
the carriage. ^^ Dio mio ! " I heard him exclaim, as I
actually flung myself into his arms and pointed to the
body now lying in a huddled heap amid its own blood
on the floor. Then, for the flrst time in my life, I posi-
tively swooned away, and knew no more.

When I came to myself the train had stopped at a
small station, the name of which I do not know to this
day. There was a Babel of speech going on around, ni>t
one word of which I could understand. I was on the
platform, supported between two men in uniform, with
cocked hats and cockades. In vain I tried to tell my
story. I knew little or no Italian, and, though there
were one or two Frenchmen in the train, they were use-
less as interpreters, for on the one hand my power of
speaking French seemed to have departed in my agita-
tion, and on the other hand none of the Italians under-
stood it. In vain I tried to make them understand that
a"giovane" had teraveJed ii| the compartment with us

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JfF FASCINATMa FBIEND. U9

aho had now^ disappeared. The Italian goard, who had
oome on at VentimigUa, evidently had no recollection of
him. He merely shook his head, said "Non capisco,"
and inquired if I was " Prussiano.'* The train had al-
ready been delayed some time, and, after a consultation
between the station-master, the guard, and the syndic of
the village, who had been summoned in haste, it was
detemvined to hand the matter over to the anthorities at
Qerioa. The two carabinieri sat one on each side of me
facing the engine, aiid on the opposite seat the body was'
stretched out with a luggage tarpaulin over it. In this
hideous fashion I passed the four or five remaining hours
of the journey to Q^noa.

The next week I spent in an Italian prison, a very
^comfortable yet quite unromantic place of abode.
Fortunately, my friends were by this time in Gtenoa, and
^ey succeeded in obtaining some slight mitigation of
niy discomforts. At the end of that time I was released,
there being no evidence against me. The testimony of
the French guard, of the booking-clerk at Monaco, and
of the staflE of the Hdtel de Paris, established the exist-
ence of my Fascinating Friend, which was at first called
iii question ; but no trace could be found of him. With
him had disappeared his victim's dispatch-box, in which
^ere stored the proceeds of several days of successful
gambling. Robbery, however, did not seem to have
heen the primary motive of the crime, for his watch,
ptirse, and the heavy jewelry about his person were all

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160 J^r FASCINATING FRIEND.

tmtonclied. From the Gennan Consul at Genoa I
learned privatelj, after my release^ that the murdered
man, though in fact a Pmssian, had lived long in Bnssia^
and was suspected of having had an unofficial connection
with the St Petersburg police. It was thought, indeed,
that the capital with which he had commenced his oper&*
tion at Monte Carlo was the reward of some special act
of treachery ; so that the anarchists, if it was indeed thej
who struck the blow, had merely suffered Judas to put
his thirty pieces out to usance, in order to pay back to
their enemies with interest the blood-money of their
friends.

IV.

About two yeare later I happened one day to make
an afternoon call in Mayfair, at the house of a lady well
known in the social and political world, who honors me,
if I may say so, with her friendship. Her drawing-room
was crowded, and the cheerful ring of afternoon tea-cnpfi
was audible through the pleasant medley of women's
Toices. I joined a group around the hostess, where an
animated discussion was in progress on the Irish Coer-
cion Bill, then the leading political topic of the day. The
argument interested me deeply ; but it is one of my men-
tal peculiarities that when several conversations are going
on around me I can by no means keep my attention ex-
clusively fixed upon the one in which I am myself en-
gaged. Odds and ends from all the Others find their way

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.[ MY. FASCINATING FRIEND. 151

> kto my ears and my consciousness, and I am sometimes

[ aeeosed of absence of mind, when my fault is in reality

\ a too great alertness of the sense of hearing. In this

'' instance the conversation of three or four groups was

more or less audible to me; but it was not long before

my attention was absorbed by the voice of a lady, seated

at the other side of the circular ottoman on which I ;ny-

fielf had taken my place.

She was talking merrily, and her hearers, in one pf
whom, as I glanced over my shoulder, I recognized an
ex-Cabinet Minister, seemed to be greatly entertained.
As her back was toward me, all I could see of the lady
herself was her diort black hair falling over the hand-
some fur collar of her mantle.

" He was so tragic about it," she was saying, " that it
was really impayaUe. The lady was beautiful, wealthy,
accomplished, and I don't know what else. The rival
was an Australian squatter, with a beard as thick as his
iiative bush. My communicative friend — ^I scarcely knew
even his name when he poured forth his woes to me—
thought that he had an advantage in his light mustache,
with a military twirl iti it They were all three travel-
og in Switzerlaud, but the Australian had gone off to
^'^e the ascent of some peak or other, leaving the field
to the foe for a cotiple of days at least. On the first day
the foe made the most of his time, and had nearly
brought matters to a crisis. The next morning he got
himself up as exquisitely as possible, in order to clinch

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153 MY FAaOINATING FRIEND.

bis conquest, but found to his disgost that lie had left his
dressingHMse with his razors at the last stopping-place.
There was nothing for it but to lay the Tillage barber,
who was also the village stationer, and draper, and iron-
monger, and chemist — a sort of Alpine Whiteley, in fact
His face had jnst been soaped — ^what do yon call it J—
lathered, is it not t and the barber had actually taken
hold of his nose so as to get his head into the right po-
sition, when, in the mirror opposite, he saw the door
open, and— oh, horror ! — ^who should walk into the shop
but the fair one herself I He gave such a start that the
barber gashed his chin. His eyes met hers in the mir-
ror ; for a moment he saw her lips quiver and tremble,
and then she burst into shrieks of uncontrollable langh-
ter, and rushed out of the shop. If you knew the pomp-
ons little man, I am sure you would sympathize with her.
I know I did when he told me the stoiy. His heart sank
within him, but he acted like a Briton. He determined
to take no notice of the carUretempSy but return boldly to
the attack. She received him demurely at first, but the
moment she raised her eyes to his face, and saw the
patch of sticking-plaster on his chin, she was again seized
with such convulsions that she had to rtLsh from iJie
room. * She is now in Melbourne,' he said, almost with
alsob, ^and I assure you, my dear friend, that I never
now touch a razor without an impulse, to which I expect
I shall one day succumb, to put it to a desperate use.' "
There was a singing in my ears, and my brain was

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MY FABCmATTNG FEIEND. 163

iAirIing« This story, heartlessly and irreverently told,
WW the tragedy of my life!

I had breathed it to no human Boul—save one!
I rose from my seat, wondering within myself
blether my agitation was visible to those around me, and
went over to the other side of the room whence I could
obtain a view of the speaker. There were the deep, dark
eyes, there were the full, sensuous lips, the upper
Aaded with an impalpable down, there was the charcoal-
black hair 1 I knew too well that rich contralto voice !
It was my Fascinating Friend 1

Before I had fully realized the situation she rose,
handed her empty tea-cup to the Cabinet^Minister,
bowed to him and his companion, and made her way up
to the hostess, evidently intending to take her leave.
Afl she turned away, after shaking hands cordially with

lady X , her eyes met mine intently fixed upon her.

She did not start, she neither flushed nor turned pale ;
she rimply raised for an instant her finely-arched eye-
brows, and as her tall figure sailed past me out of the
^^tn, she turned upon me the same exquisite and irre-
istible smile with which my Fascinating Friend had
offered me his cigarette-case that evening among the
olive-trees.

I hurried up to Lady X .

'*Who is the lady who has just left the room?" I
asked.

" Oh, that is the Baroness M ," she replied.

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184 M7 FASCINATING FRIEND.

^< She 18 hiQf an Englishwoman, half a Pole. She was
my daughter's bosom friend at Girton — ^a most interesfc-
ing girL"

'^ Is she a politician ? " I asked.

"No; thafs the one thing I don't like about ho*.
She is not a bit of a patriot ; she makes a joke of her
conntry's wrongs and sufferings. Shonld you like to
meet her? Dine with us the day after to-morrow. She
is to be here.'*

I dined at Lady X ^'s on the appointed day, but

the Baroness was not there. Urgent family affairs had
called her suddenly to Poland.

A week later the assassination of the Czar sent a
thrill of horror through the civilized world*

*^ Don^t jon think jotu* friend might be held an accessory afte^
the fact to the death of the German ? " asked the Noyelist, when
all the flattering comments, which were many, were at an end.
"And an accessory before the fact to the assassination of tbe
Czar? " chimed in the Editor. ** Why didn't he go straight from

Lady 's house to the nearest police-station Imd put the police

on the track of his * Fascinating Friend ' ? " " What a question 1 "
the Romancer exclaimed, starting from his seat and pacing rest-
lessly about the deck. " How could any man with a palate for the
rarest flavors of life resist the temptation of taking that woman
down to dinner? And, besides, hadn't he eaten salt with ber?
Hadn't he smoked the social cigarette with her ? Shade of Do
Qaincey I are we to treat like a vulgar criminal a mistress of the
finest of the fine arts? Shall we be such crawling creatures as to

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MT FAJSCmATING FRIEND. 155

siek to I47 by the heels- a Huae of Hnrder? Are we a generation
of detectiyes, that we should do this thing ? " '* So my friend pat it
to me," said the Critic dryly, *' not quite so eloqaenUy, bat to that
effect. Between oorselves, thoagh^ I beUeve he was inflaeoced
more by con^derations of his personal safety than by admiration
for marder as a fine art He remembered the fate of the German,
and was nnwiUiog to share it" '*He adopted a policy of non-in-
tervention," said the Eminent Tragedian, who in his hoars of lei-
Bare, was something of a politician. *^I shoald rather say of latMaez
foM^ or, more precisely, of laine» atsamner^^'* laaghed the Editor.
'^What was the Fascinating Friend supposed to bare in her port-
manteau ? " asked Beatrice. '^ What was she so anxioas to conceal
from the oustom-hoose officerst " " Her woman^s dotbes, I im-
agine," the Critic replied, ** though I don't hold myself bound to
eiplain all the ins and outs of her proceedings." "Then she was a
wonderful woman," replied the fair questioner, as one having
authority, **if she could get a respectable gown and * fixings,' as
the Americans say, into a small portmanteau. But," she added, " I
very soon suspected she was a woman." " Why ? " asked several
voices simultaneously. "Why, because she drew him out so
^ly," was the reply. "You think, m fact," said the Romancer,
that howeyer little its victim was aware of it, there was a touch
of the Bwig-fjoeibliehe in her fascination ? " " Precisely."

The next day was cold on deck, with a wind and drizzle from
^0 north, but toward evening the party, who now sought each
other out and duug together like magnetic particles, gathered
slowly round the warm base of the smoke-stack, and each one
looked at the other with an inquiring eye. Among them was a
iniet man of about thirty-five, with a yellow mustache and goatee,
over whose right ear was always hooked the cord of a pair of pow-
erful eyeglasses. For several days past a steady stream of fun had
^iJianated from him, and now he was keeping every one in laughter

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156 ^y FASCIKATINQ FRIEND.

bj a neyer-endlng series of qnaint remarks npon the ship, the pas*
sengers, and Wbateyer came within the range of his pinee-nez. The
Eminent Tragedian listened for some time in amnsed silence, and
then whispered a question in the ear of the dark fdlow in the yel-
low nlster, who stood next him. ^' Yes, indeed," repUed the latter
promptij ; whereupon the Emin^it Tragedian tamed to the quiet
man, and inyited him, in the name of the company, to entertain
them with whateyer fiction he might hare in his head. " I have
no fiction, nnfortonatelj," relied the man with the eyeglasses^
*^ but if a bit of sober fact of a political-historical nature will please
jou, I am at your service." The company glanced at him with
some anxiety, but his face reassured them, so their invitation had
no uncertain ring about it, and the quiet man proceeded fortii-
with to tell of another like himself.

d by Google

RILEY, M,R

By TIGHE HOPKINS.

This is the story of a quiet man, called Eiley, who
. ^i^nt down to a borough which nobody else had heard
of, and told the people that if they would send him to
Parliament he would get them three acres and a cow
apiece, and see that the country was governed by the
%ht of common sense. They were a slow, pious people,
who had had no education to speak of, and, as ihey had
never listened to anything like this before, they asked
old Mr, Deemster, who was standing by applauding with
hoth feet, what it meant. He said it was Radicalism,
and a good thing, too. He said, besides :

" Kow, yon all want three acres and a cow, don't
you ? If there's any man here who doesn't, let him go
home.'*

The electors wagged their chaps like one man, but
none of them went home.

"Very well," continued old Mr. Deemster, mounting
the barrel so as to emphasize his words, "you all want
three acres and a cow, which comes to this, that you've

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168 RILET, M^F.

been Badicak all your lives without knowing it. More
shame for yon then, I say, to keep on electing that there
Sir Supine Lumpkin, who has never pron^ised you any-
thing, and wouldn't give it to you if he did. !Now, then,
what you've got to do is to act up to your principles and
elect this Mr. Riley, whom I've fetched here from
never-you-mind-where, and he'll get you three acres and
a cow, and something more besides."

The electors felt drawn toward Eiley from that mo-
ment, and twenty-six of them formed themselves into a
committee, as Deemster told them to, and hired a room
at the public, and sat round a table with some beer in
the middle, and thought it out quietly.

The more they thought it out, the better they liked
it, and the less quiet they became ; and when the land-
lord, with a face like beetroot, came in and asked if they
meant to go home that night or didn't they, they helped
one another to their legs, and hiccupped three .Eileyfl
and an acre, and their wives put them t6 bed with the
first broomstick they laid hold of.

I can tell you these were strange goings on for Pull-
borough, and you would like to know how it came about
that the people were deciding to elect Eiley, whoih none
of them had ever seen or heard of till that night, and
turn out old Sir Supine Lumpkin, the Squire, who had
hVed among them all his life, and drawn hift money out
of the land, and spent it for the good of himsdf and hi
family.

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J

EILET, M.P. 159

This Mr. Deemster was at the bottom of it all, as
I^i&re say yon expected he would be, and, as far as

^ttist goes, he was generally at the bottom of every-

' tfabg ont of which he could make a trifle for himself.
He was a large, bald-headed man, but, oyer and above

.&at, he was a pill-merchaDt, and had made a lot of
money by mixing patent pilb on a large scale. I mean,
of course, that the business was on a large scale, not the

■ {flls; for you could buy them in boxes of all sizes and
tq[^ard, according to the number you preferred to take
at once. The pills were good for one thing or another^
BO Deemster said; and Deemster was good for a hun-
dred thousand, so the people said. For all this he was
& frugal man, and might have been seen in his drawi
ing-room window on fine evenings mending his trousers
with a needle and thread, because he had a saying that
a stitch in time saved trousers which might otherwise
Ittve gone to the bad. He had no more than the aver-
age modesty of some others I could name who have
Blade fortunes by hocusing the population, and he held
^ poor opinion of people who had not got their money
out of pills, or some other trade which had obliged
them at one time to stand behind a counter with their
sleeves rolled up, and tell customers that the smallest
orders were attended to as ijaref ully as the largest.

Now, old Sir Supine had never made any money at
all, but had had it made for him by his ancestors; so
you can suppose Deemster had a very poor opinion of

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160 BILE7, M. P.

him. In fact^ Deemster would not have cared if Sir
Supine had been expropriated, and his lands made over
to him, so that he coold have built pill-factories all over
the estate. As for Sir Supine, he despised Deemster,
because he had once taken a box of his pills before
bed-time, and refused to pay for them^ on the ground
that thej did him no good. He lived in some style at
the Hall with his housekeeper and his son Augustus;
and people who owed him rent went round by the back-
door, and thought themselves lucky if they did not leave
some part of their clothes with the dog.

In the good old days, when men tippled more aud
the Church was in no danger, Pullborough returned
four members to Parliament; and Sir Supine used to
send down on the morning of the election the names
of the persons to be elected. The votes of the electors
were divided evenly between these gentlemen, or they
would have been if most of them had not plumped for
Sir Supine, to show that they knew on which side their
bread was buttered.

The feud between Deemster and Sir Supine, on
account of the pills, was of long standing, but it had
lately been embitteh^d by the Squire's refusal to seQ
Deemster three roods of bog-land, which he wanted to
reclaim for the purposes of a vegetable garden. Deem-
ster accordingly began to think the time had come when
Pullborough needed a more generous representative in
Parliament, and casting aboyt for a likely candidate, he

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BILET, M.P. 161

^I^ftrd of Bflej, a quiet man, who wanted to get into Par-
^&ment that he might mingle with patriots, and use the
I privileges of a legislator to escape payment of his debts.
! So he invited Biley to contest Pnllborongh in the Radi-
: eal interest, and Eiley, who never declined an invitation,
dune and contested it

He went twice to chapel on Sundays, and Deemster
pQt something in the plate for him, and on week-days he
ridted the electors in their cottages, and knocked his
kead against the wet clothes hanging from the ceiling,
uid said he didn't mind it. Conduct like this was certain
to impress a simple borough like PuUborough, and the
electors said Riley was just the man they wanted ; they
wondered they had never thought of him before. His
eanse was indirectly furthered by the indiscreet conduct
of Sir Supine's son Augustus, who carried on as if he
had only a nominal respect for his own and his family's
liame. In Pnllborongh they had a very well-founded
^lief in a future place of torment for people who did
^ot attend chapel, and you can understand with vrhat a
ri^teous hatred they would hate a pleasant fellow like
-^Bgustus, who always had terriers at his heels, and drove
a tandem of donkeys during church hours on Sunday,
They wanted Augustus to go to chapel, like the rest of
*hem, for his soul's good ; and they thought §ir Supine
Would send him there if the family-seat in Parliament
were threatened. This is why they placarded the town
with bills in favor of Riley and the three cows, and gave

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163 BILET, M.P.

the editor of the Badical paper Bome sheny to write
leaders about the necessity of govemment by common
sense.

Sir Supine heard about Riley and his three cows, but
took no notice further than to instruct his tenants through
the high-minded Toiy agent that he thought of doubli^
the rents at ]\Iichaelmas. However, they all of them
plumped for Eiley, who was elected amid a storm of
cheers and rotten eggs. The real truth respecting this
election is that, if any earnest politician in Pullborongh
was sober that night, it was not Biley's fault, for he had
said from the first that he would have no bribery, and
any one who liked to call for something to drink in his
name might do so at every public in the town. There
was the necessary amount of slaughter after nightfall,
and the principal hatter in the place said the next day to
the customers who crowded his shop that he had never
known an election so good for trade.

Deemster was very well pleased with himself when
the result was made known, and so was Siley, and so
were the electors who carried him round the town on a
plank, face downward, while the disappointed Tories fol-
lowed howling, and hit at him with their umbrellas, for
it was raining.

But he was just able to call for brandy when he got
to his hotel, and he revived when Deemsteir brought hifl
daughter Dorothy round to congratulate him <m his tri-
umph. Don't run away with the notion that Deemster

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BILBT, M.P. 163

anything about Eiley or his triumph, for he didn't ;
Jte he was pleased in his large-hearted way to have been
jl»e too many for the Squire. Dorothy, however, a
ijIStty and modest girl, not at all like her father, was
jartly in sympathy with the people, and delighted to
;4id[ they were going to have a farm apiece, and cows
: «id sheep to stock them. And as for Eiley, who was
^pfog to get them these by his own unaided efforts, she
;%Dght him a hero, and told him so in guarded lan-
^fWge.

Eiley was delighted at this, for he was in love with

j Bwothy for the sake of her father's extensive business ;

\ ^ when old Deemster had gone out to propose that the

i Sectors should chair him, too, he took the girl's hand,

I Mid said he had loved her ever since he had observed her

I frugal ways in the house, and her willingness to help her

&ther more largely than herself; and this was the mean-

^ he had intended to convey in every speech he had

made.

"And was this the meaning you intended to convey
when you proposed to have government by the light of
common sense?" asked Dorothy.

"Yes," answered Eiley, **for I think that is the way
a man should strive to govern his wife. And I am glad
you are such a sensible girl, and willing to be the wife of
a man who likes peace and quiet, and who will have a
good fortune if your father makes a handsome settle-
ment"

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164 EILET, M.P.

She said if he really meant marriage she would take
time to think about it, and he most please not squeeze
her hand at present.

He seemed to like her answer, and the same night he
returned to his lodgings in K-nn-ngt-n E — d, L-nd-n,
S. "W., very well satisfied with the turn matters had
taken.

Sir Supine accused his son Augustus of having lost
him the election, and if you had heard the elder man ex-
postulating with the younger in the drawing-room that
evening you would have thought the atmosphere was
warm enough without the parlor-maid needing to light
so many gas-burners.

n.

Augustus consoled his parent by telling him that, if
any justice were still sold, something could certainly be
done to a man like Kiley for deceiving the population.
Sir Supine said that, in a matter like this, money was no
object ; that Kiley must be mended or ended ; and that
Augustus had better go to town and find out what he
could about him, and how much it would cost to have
him interfered with. Augustus then went to London
with this end in view, and took steps to let the tenants
know that he disapproved of their independent conduct

He" laid hands on all stray beasts, and others, and put
them in the pound.

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EILET^ M.P. 165

,1 He stopped all the paths on his estate.

He inclosed all the commons.

He set up stocks at eveiy taming, and pat into them
17 one found wandering after daybreak.

He sent the rents ap fifty per cent.
. He gave everybody notice to qait.

He pulled down the sign-post at the cross-roads, and
bed sliortHsighted persons half-a-crown if they coald not
ly which way it oaght to be set ap again.

He imprisoned poachers in an oathoase, and tortnred
Ihem every morning in the following diabolical man-

He had all the magical arts at his fingers' ends, and
with the help of the d 1 he had constracted an in-
fernal machine like an arm-chair, which, as often as an
Tintruth was attered in its presence, closed automatically
on whomsoever was sitting in it. He fixed the poachers
We and read them the speeches of popular politicians,
^d at every third sentence the machine closed on the
' victim and squeezed him till he howled again and again.

The people began to see that they had done wrong in
: sending Eiley to Parliament.

Riley meanwhile had joined the other patriots in the
House of Commons, and was feeling about like the rest
of them for a chance to do something for himself. He
xtiade a good start by rising in his place one night and
asking the Tory Prime Minister if he had had anything
to do with some frauds on a savings-bank. This suc«

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166 EILE7, M.P.

ceeded in drawing to him the favorable attention of
prominent reformers, one of whom sent him an invita-
tion to dinner. Bilej now saw that he was destined to
rise, and noting down in his pocket-book all the distin-
goished Tories who might be insulted with impunity, he-
reckoned that if he oonld secnie an invitation for each of
them he would save his dinner-money for the rest of the
session.

Gus was in town now, reading the police reports and
going every night to the theatre to find out what he
could about Biley. While he was searching in this way,
he remembered a friend called Ainger, who lunched at
the Athenaeum, where they know everything. He went
to Ainger, who was sitting in* the window with some cut-
lets and claret before him, and when Ainger saw Gus he
put his head through the window and shouted, ^HiDol
Come and have some cutlets. How's Eiley ? " For they
had all heard about Biley and his unusual proposak.
Gus explained that he hated Biley, and asked Ainger if
he knew anything that would put the man in prison.
Ainger, who was one of the most superior men in the
country, said he had heard Eiley spoken of as a
serious politician of an independent turn of mind, and
just the sort of person to represent a borough like PnD-
borough, which had never been promised anything be-
fore. Of course this was not at all what Gus wanted
to hear, so he finished Ainger's claret, and went off in a
dudgeon.

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'*' ** (Jo to GraiDger of the Guards," screamed Ainger,
f^ €rus went down the steps ; " he knows everybody."
i The difEerence between the Athensum and the
I Shards i% that at the Athensaum they know everythmg,
\ Hd in the Guards they know everybody.

■ Qraing^ was just taking his horse into the Park, for

^ was anxious to ride well in case of a war in foreign

fwte.
^ " Hulloa I " said Grainger, " what have yon done with

iKley ?" For they had all heard about Eiley and his

angular proposals. " Confound Siley 1 " exclaimed Gus.

"I want to spoil him. Do you know anything about

Grainger knew everybody, but he did not know Ei-
fey, which was just what Gus wanted, for it showed him
that Riley could be nobody.

"Go to Eainger in the House," said Grainger.
'^He's your man. He'll spoil Riley for you."

Gus thereupon took a cab and drove the nearest way
to Rainger, who was on his legs in the House, proposing
to tax walnuts. As soon as they had rejected his motion,
he went round to the Lobby to see Gus.

" Ha ! " said Rainger, " there you are. Riley's inside.
Come and look at him. I was introduced to him yester-
day, and he proposed I should give him a dinner. He's
the funniest dog. He has secured a night next week for
a motion asking to have government by the light of com-
mon sense. Isn't it fun? He says that when he's car-

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168 BILET, M.P.

r^ Lis motioti he's goii^ to many a girl called Doro-
thy, daughter to a bald-headed man who has made a f ortr
one by selling quack pills. How's yonr father ! "

"Now, who is this Kiley?'' said Gus, when he had
strongly stated his reasons for difiliking him, the chief
being that Biley proposed to marry Dorothy, whom Gus
loved for her own sake.

"What!'' exclaimed Eainger, "you don't know
Biley; though he says you all plumped for him and
chaired him on a plank. I'll tell you who he is. Can
you speak any foreign language!"

Gus shook his head.

"Well, then, I must tell you in English, but turn
your head the other way. Eiley . . . ."

Augustus turned pale.

" Impossible ! " he said. " How can he be all that in
himself?"

"But he is," answered Eainger. "Chairman, com-
mittee, members, honorary secretary, and all. And he
lives by ... . nervous politicians who .... but are
afraid he will tell lies about them .... evening n-wsp-
p-rs."

" This," said Gus, " is terrible ; and you say you have
not told me all. Neither have I told all. There is my
poor old father," and he went on to draw a painful pict-
ure of the brave, high-minded old Squir^ rejected by
his constituents, and supporting himself on strong lan-
guage, with scarcely a pleasure left him in life except

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BILE7, M.P. 169

^gont. "He has lost his rest," sobbed Gus, "for the
wij place he conid ever deep quietly in was the House
1^ Commons. And if you come to services to the par-
jy/' he went on, " why, papa never opened his mouth the
iriiole time he sat here, and voted against every measure
iHronght in by the other side. If he isn't a fit person to
lepresent a constituency like ours, please tell me who is."

"Don't cry," said the kind-hearted Eainger. " Tour
[. Iiflier shall sit here again within a month from to-day.
Iliave told you that Eiley (who is so unprincipled that
he would borrow money of the Speaker this very night-
?f he could) has secured a night next week for his motion
to overthrow the country. Now, listen to me," and
Eainger went on to unfold a plot so dark and dreadful
^ its details that unless I felt sure you were sitting
^f^e» some whisky I should not like to repeat it to you.
•^tigustus was a man of unusually strong nerve, but he
trembled from head to foot.

" We shall want Her help, you know," said Eainger,
jerking his finger in the direction where Dorothy was sit-
^ in her father's drawing-room, sewing gray petticoats
^th red bands to them for old women in the town who
had put their work-baskets in pawn.

"I am certain she will help," replied Gus, "for she
has often told me she would like to do something for the
good of the country."

" That win do," said Eainger ; " you can leave the

^est to me."
8

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170 ' BILE7, KFr

Gas went away full of gratitude. He retnmed home
bj the night-train, and reached Pollborongli the next
morning as the milkmen were going ont with tlieir cans
to the pump.

m.

He had some breakfast at the inn where his principal
account was, and the waiter was obsequious. So was the
landlord, and so was the girl in the bar, when he went to
pay her his respects, and so were the four f oolisb farmers
whom she was serving with new ale. Gus had never
known anything like it, ior most of these people bad
been bitten by his dogs at one time or another, and tiiey
generally frowned on him.

But persons whom he met as he walked through the
town were quite as obsequious, and even stoutish shqv-
men climbed over their qounters to be in time to puD
their top-knots when Gus went by. The poor fellow
felt quite nervous, and went along swearing in a minor
key, thinking they wanted to make game of him.

The truth is, however, there had been a reaction—
the people were melancholy, and embarrassed, by reason
of the horrible fright the Squire had thrown them into.
For he had been making things so hot for them all round
that they knew he felt his rejection deeply, and they
asked themselves if they had treated him as he deserved,
seeing that times were bad, and they were backward
with the rent.

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EILET, 2LP. m

The Squire's man had been among them, talking in a
. I^ain Oonaervatiye way about the truth of things, and
tiieir dependmice on the family of Lumpkin ; and when
he went on to say that the Squire meant to pull down
Pollborongh at ]\Iichaelma8 and build shooting-boxes for
the Tory party, who were ooming to stay with him in
tike autumn, they began to see clearly how selfishly they
had acted.

"As for three acres and a cow,'' pursued the agent,
HI his smooth, genial way, "the Squire thinks you would
^ be better ofE in America than here. It's a free coun-
try, that is, and if you supported the whisky-she^ liber-
ally, as you'd be certain to do, you might all be presi-
dents some day. All the land hereabouts bdongs to the
Squire, as you know, and next year he means to plant
cucumbers within a four-mile-radius of the Hall"

"As for government by the light of common sense,"
said the agent on another day, "the Squire thinks you
might like China better than America, for if you get in
trouble there you can have your heads cut off without
the expense of a trial ; and I should like to know who
ever heard, of government by the light of common sense.
Ko cabinets have ever tried it here, and, if they did, do
you suppose the country would stand it? Ton have
been bamboozled by a wicked Badical, and, if you want
to know who the first Badical was, you can get the
clergy to read you what Scripture has to say about the
devil"

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172 RILET, M.P.

"If we had only known all this before," said the
conscience - stricken electors, as they shook in their
clothes, " how differently we shonld have acted."

They wished they conld nnleam all their politics that
Biley had tanght them, and be back again in the dark
and happy days when they knew nothing, and trusted in
the Squire's assurance that the TOte was of no nse to
them and he would see that they were kept in their
proper station.

During three days they had all hated Biley, and now
they began to think meanly of him ; and they thought
the least they could do, when they saw Gus come home
from London, was to pnll their hair at him and send
their dutiful respects to the Squire, who was at that mo-
ment enjoying the agonies of a batch of Liberal poach-
ers to whom he was reading a patriotic speech by an
Under-Secretary of State, at every line of which the
machine in which they were fixed crushed their bones.

When Gus had made his father happy by telling him
what was in store for Eiley, he went off on a surrepti-
tious visit to Dorothy, to whom he meant to propose
marriage, and get her consent to assist in the downfall of
his miserable rival.

They kissed one another affectionately, for there was
an understanding between them, and Dorothy said: "I
know you think I have been flirting with Riley ; and so
I have, but it was all for the best. He wishes to many
me."

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RILET, M.P. 173

r

■ "I know he does, my ownest poppet," answered Au-
K gtistus, smoothing her bright brown ringlets, ^^and so
I doL"

- " I know you do, dear one," said she, adjusting her
bright brown ringlets ; " and so do others : but I could
not honestly marry you both."

" I would not have you do it, darling, if you could,"
replied her lover. " Indeed, T would rather you did not
marry Riley at all."

"And BO would I," said Dorothy ; " and yet, Augustus
pet, he spoke so distinctly about the happiness which
would attend our wedded life, provided our father — ^I
mean my father — could be induced to make handsome
Bettlements."

"But could anything or any one induce him to do
tiiat, Dorothy?" he inquired.

"No, Augustus," she answered, with simple truth,
*'I do not think anything or any one could."

"But let us put the case, my sweetest singing-bird,"
whispered Augustus, " that your hard-working and avari-
eions parent came down with settlements of a munificent,
even of a generous description — ^let us suppose that he
surrounded you with aU that the tender heart of woman
could desire, that you had everything in slap-up style, all
^ound my hat, down to the ground, and up to the
tuocker, in a manner of speaking — think what a lot
^ould then be yours ! Doomed to live your whole life
long in the midst of unbounded and unbridled luxury,

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174 RILE7, M.P.

yon would need bnt to ring yonr bell, and several serr-
ants wonld instantly present thanselves to know the
reason. Think yon, fair one, that this would not pall I
llVonld yon not, ere a week, long to throw something at
somebody, and wonld not the sense of yonr regjonsi-
bility to yonr inferiors restrain you and be an unmiti-
gated nuisance} How difiEerent, little bulbul, your fate
would be, if you consented to wed with me. My father
hates you, even as yours hates me, and neither of them
would give us a penny. We should be compdied to
borrow at a low rate of interest from persons who re-
quired no references. How this would stimulate our
activity t How hungry we should often be, and with
what pity would this inspire us for the sufferings of
others ! And then, when the tide turned, as I dare say it
might, and we began to scrape a penny here and a penny
there— what joy! Oh, my girl, my comfort, my pretty
little simpering tippetiwitehet, and my pole-star, surely
this is the life you would prefer ? "

^^Ah! my Augustus, my Augustus, my Augustus!"
she answered softly ; and, if she had said less, she could
not have meant more.

" My own, my dewdrop ! " he murmured.

He spoke rapidly, though not expecting to have got
so far in so short a time ; and if he had had the license
in his pocket at that moment he might have done with
her what he would. But he wished to act properly
throughout, and he said : " My pippinest pet, let us do

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RILEY, M.P. 175

nothing rashly, lest we come to repent it Let ns not be
fliarried till the bands have been called, and the moment
fte ceremony is over we will ask the consent of our par-
ents to our nnion."

" Ho\^ good and thoughtful you are, Augustus," said
Dorothy. " Yes, that is just what we will do."

Then he went on to tell her of the scheme which was
to confound Riley, and of the part they wanted her to
play in it, which she gleefully accepted. What this
Bcheme was I can not tell you just now, for here comes
Eiley himself, though why he has taken to dressing him-
self in this conspicuous manner I don't know, for all his
bills are still unpaid, and this is what troubles him.

He thought that once he had got into Parliament to
please Deemster, Deemster would allow him to want for
nothing ; the fact being that Deemster, having discharged
his grudge against Sir Supine, would willingly allow him
to want for everything. Kiley had never troubled him-
self about his creditors in his hour of need, and now his
creditors did not trouble themselves about him in his
liOTir of prosperity. If you think that the way of the
world is different from this, I have no respect for your
opinion. They said that he must pay them, or they
Would make a bankrupt of him. I dare say you have
been in debt yourselves, and know what it is to face a
thankless creditor.

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176 BILEY, M. P.

rv.

We are now again arrived at the British House of
Commons. It is a very foggy afternoon in the middle
of the season, and if the House is to deliberate in any-
thing like comfort the lights must be turned on. By
this I mean to say that thongh it is only half -past three
in the afternoon, it is very nearly dark. A plain, shabby
man enters the House, and gropes his way along, swear-
ing under his breath, for he keeps hitting his shins
against the furniture. It is, comparatively speaking,
only a short time since G — ^y F — wk-s groped about in
this way, with some powder and lucifer-matches, think-
ing to keep up the Fifth of November.

Is this, then, another Q — j F — wk-s ?

Hideous t

But, no.

Who, then, is this mysterious stranger i

What if he be no stranger ?

Strangers are only admitted to the House under very
stringent regulations.

** Why can't you say at once who he is, and put ns
out of suspense ? "

I will say.

"It is the man whose business it is to light the
House.''

Ah ! what a relief.

See! He lights it.

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EILEY, M.P. 177

But for this man the House would legislate in total
^knefis.

Horrible I

But it is his duty to light the House, and he has
%htedit.

He never fails in his duty.

He has a wife and family to support.

He is paid by the week.

Now we have a notion what the House looks like on
Ate night of a great debate.

It was the night which Biley had secured for his mo-
tion to revolutionize the country in the manner already
indicated* His head and his pockets were so full of his
speech that the policemen on duty declined to let him in
till he had submitted himself to be searched. He had
fiome spirits under his coat-tails and some more under his
waistcoat, for he wanted to impress the House, and they
had told him this was the way to do it.

Old Mr. Deemster sat among the distinguished stran-
gers in the gallery, with his spectacles well up on his
forehead so as not to miss a word. It was this rich man
of the people whom Biley was most anxious to impress,
for if he succeeded with his motion he meant to ask
Deemster for the hand of his daughter, and a blank
check to wave in tiie faces of his creditors. He went
early to be in time for prayers, and the Speaker was
affected when he entered the House with both arms full
of his speech. Young and tender peeresses sat in the

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178 RILEY, JLP,

ladies' gallery, and craned their beautiful heads for a
Bight of the man who wanted to govern the countrjr bj
the light of common sense. The reporters, with cleaii
paper collars and their hair oiled, sat in a row np-stairB ;
and if yon had seen them taming their ink-pots orer
their note-books, and sending ofi billets to the peeressiss,
yon would have thought, as I often do, that the Bfitish
Press is an institution about which a good deal might be
said.

Crowds of people were in the street, and Eiley's
creditors formed a ring twenty-two deep round the
House, for they had heard that if he failed he meant
to go to foreign parts by the last train*

Rainger, bursting with his plot, was watching Eflcy
from the other side of the House*

Four hundred and four questions on subjecte which
no one was interested in were got rid of, the number
being fewer than usual that Riley might have his
chance.

How often do we observe that something happens
whidi was not expected to happen, and plays the v^
mischief with something else which ought to have hap-
pened.

If anything unforeseen were to happen now, Eiley
might be prevented from making his 6peech, his political
career would infallibly be blasted, and this story would
not end as happily as it ought to do, if you consider the
reason.

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BIURET, M.P. 179

At the moment when he was looking for the Speak-
^ ejey an attendant of the House entered with a visit-
Aig*card in his hand. He gave it to the first member he
' eame to, and as it was fingered by one gentleman after
awither it grew duskier and duskier in hue. At length
it reached Riley, who would like to have repudiated it,
only he dared not, for he knew the House had seen him
Aange color. This was Dorothy's card, and she had
written on it a note in pencil, telling him to come at
Office and find her a seat among the ladies, for the
Banister's secretaries were trying to flirt with her in
the lobby.

"What shall I do with her?" thought Rfley. "K I
leave the House now-my chance will be gone, and Deem-
ster will never give me a blank check."

What will he do with her? Wliat would any of
you have done with her ? If only some one would rise
Mid take up the attention of the House for a minute or
two.

Rainger, who had never removed his eyes from Eiley
for thirty minutes or less, rose at this moment and
9sked leave to make a personal statement respecting the
Begum of Cawnpore, whose relations with the country
^^^ just then somewhat strained. It was a subject to
which many earnest men had devoted some of their best
^d purest thoughts, and the House became hushed in
an instant.

Riley thanked God for the Begum of Cawnpore

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180 EILEY, M. P.

(this was not lier real name, and she did' not actually
liTe in Cawnpore) and rnslied out; Bainger's attitude
snggesting that he meant to Bpeak for an hour and a
half.

But this Rainger, though a thorough politician, was
a yeiy sly man, and when the door had slammed on
Ililey^s coat-tails, he said he would not occupy the House
al)OTe a minute, as he knew the hon. member for Full-
borough had secured this night for an important speech
on the reform of the Parliament. He made his state-
ment, and sat down on the member next to him, and the
Speaker called on Kiley.

Eiley did not respond, and when they looked for
him there was no one in his place but a great glass of
gin and water, and a speech written only on one side of
the paper, and two feet high.

Kiley, poor creature, was rushing up and down the
lobby, asking all persons whom he met if they had seen
a girl called Dorothy, with deep-blue eyes and a pink
dress, this being the costume she generally wore. They
had not, no more did Riley, though he spun round both
lobbies in a twinkling, and revolved on his own axis till
his head swam.

The House began to empty, it kept on emptying, and
when Eiley came back panting after his fruitless search,
he met the members pushing one another out by threes,
fifteens, and thirty-sixes. He charged them, he said he
wanted to make a speech, he struggled, he got mixed np,

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EILEY, M.P. 181

[' le was one fnan against six hundred, and they shook him
mp like medicine.

How seldom do we think of the adaptability of the
human frame to all the pushing, squeezing, kicking,
and tearing that go on in the world. If our skeletons
were made of anything but bone, it is ten to one we
Aould not live above six years at the utmost. If
Kiley had died at this age, his life might have been
Bpotless, and he would never have had the humiliation
of standing on the floor of the Hous6, with some of his
hair oflF, while the Speaker counted to see if there was
a quorum.

For, as soon as he got in, and before he reached his
seat, he had begun to make his speech, when a Secretary
to the Treasury rose and said there was no House.

Then the Speaker got up and looked round.

Some members of the Government were sleeping
on the front Treasury bench, and the Leader of the
Opposition and three others were drawing lots for the
estates of the nobility, for they thought if Eiley's
^notion were carried the country would be divided up
into portions.

Riley jumped up and down, and said he would have
government by the light of common sense or die for it,
^nd the Speaker went on coimting, one, two, three, and
so on up to twelve, this being the number of persons
present.

Now, twelve is not a quorum, and the Speaker de-

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183 EILEY, M.P.

clared the House adjourned, and gent the widter for a
cab.

It is no nse straggling against constituted authority,
least of all against the man whose business it is to turn
out the lights, for you might be turned out yourself, as
was the ease with Eiley.

The next morning " The Pullborough Truth Teller''
printed his speech at fuU length, with ** cheers'' and
^^hear, hear" sprinkled up and down the colunms, and
said that no finer piece of oratory had been heard for
some time. But "The Pullborough Truth Seek^," the
opposition journal, also came out that morning, described
the proceedings in the House, and said that Biley had
never made his speech at alL

Biley's committee held a meeting, at wh^h some one
said there was a crisis, and that things must be looked in
the face ; and while they were abusing one another amyss
the table, the landlord came in with a face like a mul-
berry, and asked who was going to pay the drink bill

Then it transpired that all Kiley's election expenses
were still to pay, and they were heavier than usual, bo-
cause he had said he would have no bribery.

Late that evening, a man with no baggage to speak
of, and less hair on his head than he had been accufl*
tomed to, presented himself at old Mr. Deemster's, and
asked for his daughter's hand in marriage and a blank
check, on the ground that the country was in danger
from a Tory Government which would have nothing to

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RILE7, M.P. 183

dD with oommon sense. Sach a Government, said the
ttranger — a quiet, serious man — ^mnst be turned out with
I little delay as possible.

As there was nothing to prevent old Mr. Deemster
ftxnn turning Kiley out, he did so with the help of his
g. The next day Biley issued another address to the
electors, in which he gave them an impartial account of
his conduct, and asked for a renewal of their confidence
on the ground that Parliament seemed very well content
with the present Ministers, who ought to be turned out.
He said he would at once apply for the Chiltem Hun-
^Ireds, and he did so, and got them ; and a writ was issued
for a new election.

Bat when the day of the election came, the only can-
didate was old Sir Supine Lumpkin, who got all the
votes, and a few spurious ones besides. He said, in
thanking them, that they might rely on it he would not
forget their recent conduct, and he had hired some new
gamekeepers to look after the poachers.

Augustus and Dorothy were married at St, George's,
^nuch to the disgust of their parents ; and the electors ex-
pressed themselves willing that Deemster or anybody
else should pay Eiley^s expenses, provided they never
saw him again.

V.

For they were and are persuaded that their place in
careation is a humble one ; and they pray that they may

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184 BILET, M.P.

be kept in it And they don't believe in government by
the light of common sense, or cheap education, or free
wash-houses ; no, nor in the march of events, nor the
Irish : and if any one goes down there again and offers
them three acres and a cow, thiey will take him by the
sleeve and lead him through the town, past the pump,
the churchyard, the quiet little ale-house, and Miss
Crump's Academy, and so on till they come to the horse-
pond.

The company were grateful to the quiet man with the pince-nez
for the heartj laaghs he had given them, and congratulated each
other on the process of evolution by which they had at last secured
a story without either ghosts or murders. Their satisfaction, how-
ever, was short-lived, fbr they were betrayed into a political discns-
sion very diflferent in its character from the delicate humor which
had provoked it. What was said, and who said it, may not be told
here now that the incident has already become ancient history; but
if the Novelist, who knew little about English politics and cared
less, had not skillfully changed the subject in an athletico-literary
manner, there would probably have been other broken things on
board besides the shaft.

The Eminent Tragedian spent the next day alone, and only one
little incident broke its monotony. After lunch he was standing by
himself under the bridge, when he caught sight of a couple right up
m the bows of the vessel. The two " look-outs " in their yellow
oilskins and long sea-boots were stamping up and down their round
on the forward deck ; but farther forward still, in the very nose of
the ship, a reckless young couple were seated, apparently eiyoying
to the foil the novel excitement of their position. The lady was
clad from head to foot in a long soft gray ulster, and a hat of tho

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MILEY, M.F. 185

material was tied closelj down on the masses of her bright
^ but proved entirely unable to keep the wind from plajing
rii?oc with it She was seated on a low stanchion, so that only her
f bid was above the bulwarks and exposed to the force of the wind.
^ companion sat behind her upon the lower end of the great wire
l^nd running to the foremast head, steadying himself against the
Idwarks with his left hand, and with his right grasping the shrond
^^t his head. As the ship pitched, the conple in the bows went
19 until the vessel seemed to be stretching forward into a great
freen abyss of swirling waters, and then a moment later they went
^wn and down, and the wave in front came rushing up the bows
BBtil it was within a few yards of them — a yard, almost a foot — and
^ two crouched low, and the man's hand slid gently down the
sbroud till it was just behind his fair companion, in readiness to
grasp her if the rushing water should come any higher. §evera]
times he seemed to relinquish with reluctance the necessity of put-
^ his arm round her waist. It was a pretty nght, and the Emi-
nent Tragedian was heartily sorry when the officer on the bridge
<^Qght sight of them, and instantly dispatched the boatswain to
bring them back with a severe reprimand.

When evening came the appetite for fiction brought reconcilia-
tioD, and, with many expressions of polite regret that they had not
met earlier in the day, the company drew together again in a shel-
tered spot on deck. Little though they suspected it, the story they
then heard was to be the last. It was this one :

d by Google

LOVE AND LIGHTNING.

By HENKY NORMAN.

"When Mr. Tate had finished adding np the sutofl
npon a number of pieces of paper scattered over his desk,
and had fonnd that the total conld not be expressed in
f ewer^ than seven figares, and that the first of those fig-
ures was a five, his consternation was not materially
lessened by the further fact that the other six were all
naughts. And as he laid down his pen and pushed him-
self back from his desk, and looked up at as much of the
September sky as the soup-like atmosphere of the dty
and the little square panes of his office window permitted
him to see, he realized more accurately than ever before
that he was playing a very big game indeed. He had
been a "bear'' for a good many weeks, and here and
there, openly and secretly, confidently and doubtingly, to
friends and foes, he had steadily sold Whatbosh Pre-
ferred, until he had reached this total of five millions of
dollars, which now stared him in the face. There was no
doubt about it — it was a big game. But the mere mag-
nitude of the figures was not the sole cause of Mr. Tate's

d by Google

LOVE AND LIGHTNING. 187

fMistemation ; he had often been a ^bull" aild a ^^bear ''
it big fignies before now, and the conscionsDess of hav-
ing sold fivQ million dollars' worth of somethiDg he did
lot possess was not in itself sufficient to shake the nerves
of an operator of his position and reputation. Moreover,
be had gone into this with his eyes wide open — he had
eonsidered the matter beforehand in every possible light ;
something great had been forced upon him, and he had
chosen his conrse after wrestling in calculation as many
people would have wrestled in prayer. He had taken
time by the forelock, he had grasped the skirts of happy
chance, he had cast the die, he had crossed the Bubicon,
be had burned his bridges, he had put his fate to the
tonch, he had taken his tide at the flood — sink or swim,
live or die, double or quits, now or never — ^it was in one
or other of these aspects that his enterprise presented
itself to his mind, according to the literary recollection
or commercial saw that served him at the moment. He
hiew exactly the risk he was running, and therefore the
vision of the Stock Exchange, with its surging, shouting,
^d, pitiless crowds, had already exerted upon him all its
power.

But there was something apart from finance involved
in those seven figures — something before which his nerves
ww^^as water, something which made his forehead feel
damp as he passed his hand almost tremblingly over it.
There are only two things which make real cowards of
strong men — conscience and woman. And Mr. Tate's

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188 LOVE AND LIGHTNING.

conscience was thorongUj of the kind essential to a man
who gathers to himself other people's fortunes by sdling
what he has not got, and buying what he does not want.
As he sat there in the safe and sacred privacy of his inner
oflBce, with his luxurious roll-top desk before him, its
pigeon-holes bursting with their bundles of papers of all
shades of white, and yellow, and blue, his eyes rested on
nothing more suggestive to the imagination than several
scores of tin boxes stacked against the wall ; but it was
none of these that he saw. He had forgotten the Stock
Exchange, he had forgotten the city, he had forgotten
even the five million dollars, and he was walking down a
long garden-path, with a little swinging gate at the end
of it leading into an old orchard, and he was listening to
a voice which seemed to him more like the music of run-
ning water than anything else he had ever heard, and he
was trying for the thousandth time to decipher the inner
meaning of its simple words. '^ If one only had the
power," it was saying — "if one could only do something
instead of thinking and thinking about it all day long,
and sometimes praying — if ox\e could only catch men's
ears and make them listen and obey — ^if one had only
some weapon besides one's longing woman's heart"— and
he had replied with such trepidation as he had never
known when waiting for the fall of the hammer on set-
tling-day, which might make him almost a beggar, " I don't
believe that a woman with such a heart, if she's willing
enough with it, has much to do but accept all the power

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LOVE AND LIQETNIKO. 189

wants when it is offered to her"; and then he had

hot all over, and hated himself for what seemed so

and presumptuons a hint. But the voice had only

iBplied, "People say so very easily/* and then it had

ritepped, and he had looked np to find a pair of large

|«k gray eyes looking at him, fall of wonder, or sns-

|ieion — or what was it f

This was the problem beyond his solving; this it was
fiiat made his hand unsteady and his forehead damp as
M sat among his papers and boxes ; and this it was, too,
ftat lay at the bottom of his consternation as he stared
absently at those seven figures.

Nor was the problem solved this time, for a light tap
^t the door interrupted Mr. Tate's reflections, and, with-
out waiting for any response from him, the door opened
eflently, and a sKm, elderly man entered, and closed it
BJlently behind him. He was elderly in years, for his
semi-military mustache was gray, and his short, neatly-
I^ted hair was almost white, but his sharp elastic step
^^ straight figure, closely buttoned up in a dark-blue
'rock coat, might have caused him to pass for a general
m undress, except, perhaps, for his deferential manner.

He stepped to Mr. Tate's side, holding a yard or so of
P^per tape from a stock telegraph instrument stretched
^^t between his hands, and said quietly, " It has gone up
^g^n, sir."

**What has gone up? How much?" inquired Mr.
Tate, incoherently.

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190 LOYE AND LIOHTKINQ.

^' One and a half, since the market opened," rep]
Mr. Silk ; for this elderly, soldier-like individual was
iidential derk to the great financier, a second self,
whose opinions in money matters he attached almost
mach weight as to those of his first self, and whose qi
deferential demeanor covered a mine of information,
a quickness of brain, and a clearness of judgment, w!
his employer had been glad to profit by for nearly twenty
years. " Sixty-one and a half now, sir," added Mr. Silk

" Do you know how much we have sold altogether ? '^
asked his employer ; and he handed him the slip of paper
from his desk. "We can not sell much more, can
we?"

"No, sir,'' replied Mr. Silk, quietly, "we can not;
and if—" and he paused.

" And if it goes up for another few weeks— that is
what you mean — ^we are ruined, of course — ^bankrupt-
posted on the Exchange. "Wliy the devil don't you say
it?"

" The word ^ ruin ' has never passed my lips to you
yet, sir," said Mr. Silk, with a touch of severity in hifl
quiet tone ; " but I was going to say, if it keeps on like
this-"

"It won't keep on," retorted Mr. Tate; "it won't
keep on, I tell you. If you have been with me throi^li
thick and thin all these years, and haven't any more con-
fidence in my judgment than to think that I should sell
five million dollars for a rise, at this late hour, I think it

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LOVE AND UQETmNG. 191

pity/' and Mr. Tate pulled the roll-top of his desk
n with a bang.

Mr. Silk was too much accustomed to these little ex-
il^tioiis of feeling, which meant nothing, to be in any
*ty perturbed.
; • ** I suppose you know who bought the kst lot you

f. laid, sir I"

\. "No."

f ^ Leslie bought it at once."

"Damn Leslie I " retorted Mr. Tate, angrily. " The
3^]^^ fool knows no more about American Securities
flwrn a Hindoo knows about skates. He will live to
^'iKie the day he ever heard of it, you mark my word."

" Well, sir," replied Mr. Silk, with more independ-
ence in his tone than he had yet shown, " I have no
doubt you are right ; and I had hoped, sir " — ^he added,
^Somatically — '' that you were aware of the opinion in
which I hold your judgment on financial matters ; but I
Aould not be doing my duty if T did not tell you again
that I regard this operation with considerable apprehen-
sion. "We have sold and sold in a rising market for you
faiow how long ; we can not sell any more, the market is
^^g still, and settling-day is not so far off. Mr. Leslie
has made no serious mistake yet, as we know to our cost
once at least, and he has bought as regularly as we have
^^U. lean not help fearing he knows what he is do-
ing.''

" Silk," said Mr. Tate, rising and laying his heavy

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192 LOVE AND LIGHTNING.

hand familiarly on his clerk's shonlder, " Silk, don't you
make any mistake ; Leslie doesn't know what he is do-
ing — ^/know. As sure as my name is Tate, and as sure
as you'll eat your Christmas dinner again with me, when
people won't have Whatbosh Preferred at any price, I
know exactly what is going to happen. But I won't tell
you, Silk," he added with a laugh. " You don't deserve
any confidences to-day. Just go now, and see if you
can't sell some more before closing."

Mr. Silk turned and left the room as quietly as he
had entered it, and his employer dragged an arm-chair
near to the fire, for it was chilly for September, took a
cigar from the mantelpiece, lighted it, and sat down fo
resume his meditations. But the thread had been brokeu,
and no rippling voice and no gray eyes came back to his
memory. The financier's thoughts had all gone back to
the big game he was playing. The fact was, his life had
reached a point at which it was accurately described by
the antithetical expressions of which he had such a crop
in mind. Both publicly and privately, as regarded his
reputation in the city, and his relations to his bankers, as
well as the fulfillment of a hope which was very real,
although he had hardly dared to formulate it yet, the out-
look for him was all or nothing. The Mr. Leslie, whom
his clerk had spoken of so seriously, was a man nearly
fifteen years younger than himself, and a comparatively
late comer on the Stock Exchange. He had capital— no
one knew exactly how much — ^he speculated heavily, and

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ZOVB AND UQETNING. 193

ffib'a nerve and apparent recklessness equal to those of
Ife Tate himself — almost always, too, during some time
fi^' in the very securities on which Mr. Tate fancied
fewelf most, and, as Silk had said, he had never yet
>i|d^ a serious mistake. His path, moreover, crossed
*«t of Tate at a point that neither the confidential cleik
ISiPXeslie himself had ever suspected, but which made
Ete hate him with a hatred so bitter that, had it been
olown, it woTdd have been remarkable even among the
^^nities of the Stock Exchange. In a word, Mr. Tate
WW that the woman who had come, without knowing
^% into his own life, blotting out everything but her own
^"^, was the daughter of a house where Leslie was a
ft^ent and a welcome guest ; and the one time that
Tate had seen them together in the garden as he was
ridmg through the little Kentish village near which she
lived, just for the pleasure of passing near her, had left
^ doubt on his mind what her relations with Leslie
^ould be, could the latter succeed in controlling them.
•Hie scene had burned itself into Tate's memory as the
*^es are burned into an etcher's plate. They had evi-
dently been playing tennis, and her face was flushed with
Zeroise and pleasure. She was seated on a low chair in
a shady comer of the garden, lazily swinging her tennis-
^eket, and Leslie was lying on the grass — ^almost kneei-
ng? he was — at her feet, talking eagerly to her, and far
^ seriously, it seemed to Tate's jealous eye, for so tri-
fting an occasion.

9

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194 LOYE AND LIGHTNING.

AdcI now, tooy this Bpecnlation was practically a duel
between Leslie and himself. He was a ^^ bear " and Les-
lie a " bnll " ; one of them conld win only at the expense,
probably the ruin, of the other. The few words and the
look that day, walking down the path toward the or-
chard, had created in Tate^s heart a great, passionate,
almost blinding, hope, and this hope, even in the specu-
lator's dull breast, had fed itself day by day in happy
self-deceit and ever-growing confidence, as sucb hopes
will. But, if he had misjudged this accursed American
security — and as he faced the possibility of failure,
all the shame of bankruptcy, the faU of the hammer in
Throgmorton Street, the desertions of :friends, the chuck-
les of enemies, the paragraphs in the newspapers, the
wretched heart-breaking struggle of beginning life over
again so late in the day — ^all these seemed nothing to him
beside the thought of the collapse of this great, shadowy,
seK-builded hope. A ruined speculator — ^wjiat more piti-
ful and diamef ol object was there in the world } If he
won anything, therefore, it would be both ; for Leslie, he
reflected, would find poverty no less a bar to love than
other men : and he, wealth and success no less an aid.

But, in spite of his confident tone, the conversation
with Silk had increased his alarm tenfold. It was all
true : as fast as he had sold, the stock had risen ; he could
not sell much more; he must settie soon. All these
thoughts ran through his mind in growing confusion and
incoherence ; one consciousness only becoming clearer to

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LOVB AND LIQHTNIIfG. 195

all the time, and that was that Bomething mnst be
> As he sat there staring into the fire, his head
upon his shonlders, and the pallor of his face con-
faifiting with the gayness of his clothes and the sparkle
^rf his too conspicuons jewelry, he thought how he had
■^ many a hard knot before, as he mnst cnt this one
.low.

He was recalled to himself by his cold cigar falling
"iqpon the carpet, and rising hastily he found the fire al-
^^i out, the room dark and cold, and the rain falling
Jleavily outside. An extraordinary resolve had entered
&aly into his mind. He knew it was there, he felt that
everything depended upon his not letting it elude him ;
^t he seemed too dazed to grasp it or force it to take
comprehensible shape. While he was leaning heavily on
tiie mantel over the red embers, he heard the rumble of
one of the last thunder-showers of summer or the first of
^nter, and, as he stepped to the window to see mechan-
^lly whether it promised to be a wet evening, he sprang
^k suddenly, thoroughly startled in his nervous condi-
tion by a long-drawn blue flash of harmless lightning.
The electricity seemed to have entered into his very
thoughts. With his heart beating loudly and his breath
coming in short snatches, he grasped the back of his desk,
feeling as though the obscure purpose in his mind were
Wug shaped for him by some strange occult influence.
Slowly it gathered deflniteness and strength, till at last
he found himself master of a great plan, a plan worthy

uigiuzeaoy Google

196 LOYE AND LIOHTNING.

of hiB r^utation, a plan to force his difficulties to bring
forth saccess — a plan which should be crowned with the
realization of his hope. The most weird of the elements
had thrast its own snrpassing light into the thickiest dark-
ness of his Ufe. As soon as he had reeorered himself, he
threw on his hat and coat, and passed hurriedly into the
next room, where old Mr. Silk stiU sat bending over his
sales-book. Tate struck him almost rudely on the shoul-
der, and crying with a forced laugh, " Never fear, Silk,
never fear ! I know," he strode out into the wet, deserted
street.

If there is any latent poetry in a man, a September
dawn in mid-Atlantic will bring it out. At one inoment
there is night, gray and cold, and little is visible but the
faint outline of the rigging tossing specter-like overhead;
at the next there is the ^' haze at sunrise on the red sea-
line," and then great gleams of red, one after another,
like repeated blows, come pouring over the horizon, until
the vessel seems to be plowing her way through a sea
of gold. There is an intoxication in the breeze that
springs up, fresh hopes arise as boundless as the sea itself,
and the past seems forgiven and all the future fair at the
creation of this new day. The morning broke like this
around the steam-yacht Nirvana^ as she steamed along bo
slowly that there was hardly a handful of foam at her
bows ; but no one on her decks was any the better for it,

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LOYB AND LIGETNING. 197

file only person there was wholly occupied by some-

pbg at his feet. He was a short, stout man, with the

fck red face and heavy curling beard that come from

i^s^OBure to the salt winds, dressed in the familiar smooth

Ihe suit and peaked cap of an officer, and the lines of

lldd round his arm showed him to be a captain. His

ittds were buried in his pockets, and he was swinging

gently up and down from the vibration of the steel

"!WBer upon which he was standing, midway between

^e capstan to which it was attached and the hawse-pipe

through which it ran into the sea. On this hawser his

eyes were fixed, and no child was ever more engrossed

by its see-saw than was this bronzed seaman by the move-

nient of his rope. After a while he looked up, glanced

^nd the horizon, and gently blew the little silver

whistle that hung at his button-hole. An officer stepped

out instantly from behind the canvas-sheltered comer of

[the bridge, and, in response to the sign of the hand

"which the other made him, rang the electric signal com-

!;munication with the wheel-house. The Nirvoma began

at once to swing slowly round, and in a few minutes she

"Was steaming directly back again over the course she had

jn&t traiveled.

Ten minutes afterward a man stepped briskly from
the companion-way on to the deck, and extended his
anns as he took in a deep draught of the fresh morning
air, and then cast a quick glance around ihe ship. It
Was Mr. Tate, not as he was in his office in Throgmorton

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198 ^OVE AND UOHTNINQ.

Street^ but dressed in a smart suit of blue, and with a tit-
tle peaked gold-laced cap perched on the top of his head.
The salt windis, too, had' blown the cobwebs from his
head and some of the lines from his fac^, for his haggard
and anxions look had given place to an expression so
cheerfol as almost to seem reckless, and a week at sea
had tanned the paleness from hip face. -Catching sight
of the skipper, still seensawing on the hawser, he went
up to him with a hearty, " Qoodtraoming, Mr. lilburn;
any nibbles yet?"

"Nothing, sir," replied the skipper, cheerily; "the
fish don't bite this morning."

" But why ever aren't you using a dynamometer ? "
exclaimed Tate, as he suddenly became aware that the
skipper was bobbing gently up and down.-

"The sole of my foot, sir," said the skipper with a
laugh, " is better than any dynamometer that ever was
turned out. I should feel it if we hooked a sprat."

" Well, all right ; you know ; only don't let ua miss
it ' Are you quite sure about the position ? Where are
we exactly?"

" We are just over the spot, sir ; I am quite sure of my
ground— latitude 50° 22' ZO' K, longitude 9° 34' 20' W."

"Well, the sooner it is over and we are off south, the
better for us all," said Tate. " Ton know we reckoned
upon picking it up either yesterday or to-day."

"Yes, sir; and we shall do it," was^ the confident
answer.

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LOVE AND uoETmnre. 199

"Have the crew any Bospidon of what we are

:?" . : . . •

"Not the slightest, sir, I have' kept them below as
ttQch as possible. And yon need not fear about the
&8t and second officers after what yon said to them yes-
teday."

"Yes," remarked Tate, with a selfnBatisfied smile, "I
tbought that offer wbnld fix them. And King, too, I
iave squared him pretty completely."

"Is he all ready, sir, for any moment? Ah, here he
comes.''

A tall, thin man with stooping shoulders and strag-
gling black beard joined the group, and raised his hat to
flie owner.

'* Good-morning, Mr. King," said Tate; "the skipper
^as just asking if you are ready to begin at any mo-
ment."

" I have been quite ready, sir," was the reply, " any
time for the last twenty-four hours."

"That's all right," said Tate; "you know everything
^ifl depend on you at the last moment. I'm getting
rather anxious about the affair myself, and I wish
^e could catch the fish while we have got such fine
weather."

• The words were hardly out of his mouth before the
skipper sprang from the hawser with such suddenness as
almost to upset Tate, who staggered back along the deck.
"We've hooked it!" he shouted. And two shrill notes

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200 LOVE AND LIGHTNmG.

on his whistle bronght the officer on the bridge in a
moment to the electric signal, which he rang violently,
and the engines of the Nvrvcma stopped.

Mr. King had disappeared before Tate had time to
exclaim, breathlessly, " Have yon got it ! are yon sure ? '^

*^No fear,'' replied the skipper, and, tnming to the
boatswain, whom the whistle had bronght, he cried,
sharply, " All hands on deck, quick 1 Now, sir," turning,
to Tate, ^Uhe time has come, and you've got to tell them.
Bemember, sailors don't understand long speeches — come
straight to the point."

Tate paled slightly, and his hands twitched nenrouslj
inside his coat-pockets, as a crowd of seamen came run-
ning up in twos and threes, until there was a score of
them.

" Now, my lads," said the captain, " the owner has
got something to say to you."

Tate walked slowly across the deck and leaned
against the capstan. "Men," he said, "oblige me by
just listening carefully for a couple of minutes. When
you shipped for this voyage on board my yacht you
knew there was something more than ordinary pleasuring
to be done. You wouldn't have got the pay you are get-
ting if there had not been. Now the time has come
when you will learn what it is, and all I have to say to
you is simply this — whatever you see during the next
two hours you forget it just as quick is you can, and
forget it so well that long before we sight land again you

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LOVE AM) LIQHTmNG. 201

won't know you ever saw it. When you are paid ofl^
m&j man who has completely forgotten anything out of
tiier common that has happened on this vojage will get
410 from the skipper to take home to his wife. Do you
afl understand ? ''

The sailors looked at the masthead, and then at their
boots, and liien at each other, and a broad grin spread
do^ly over their faces. At last the spokesman of the
crew gave a hitch to his trousers, and said, " Thank ye,
air; I think there's no diflSculty in understanding of you.
There never was a crew with such poor memories as us."

^* That's all right, then," exclaimed the captain, sharp-
ly; and the seamen slowly dispersed.

The operation that followed took a long time to exe-
cute, but takes only a few words to telL Tate's yacht
was an admirably furnished one, and everything that
iiautical ingenuity or need could suggest and money
^uld buy, was on board, and there were few of the
fashionable European ports where her outline was not
kiK>wn to the harbor-master. But no luxurious private
yacht had ever been engaged before on fiuch a job as this.
For half a^ hour the steam capstau went slowly round,
and the hawser came gradually ou board, till at last, amid
intense excijkement, the shank of a grappling-iron appeared
^t the surface, and, a moment later, a black, snake-like
thing as thick as a man's wrist, disappearing into the
^ater at each end, was hauled to the ship's side, firmly
hooked by one of the five prongs. It was an Atlantic

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203 LOYE AND LIGHTNING.

cable. As quickly as possible it was made fast with
chains forward and aft, the crew working at the difficult
job as unconcernedly as if they had been on a cable ship
all their lives. Hardly was this accomplished before Mr.
King appeared at the head of the companion-way, fol-
lowed by two seamen, each of whom held a large coil of
gutta-percha covered wire on bis arm, uncoiling it as he
went, until he reached the ship's side. The skipper pro-
duced a fine-toothed saw, which be had evidently held in
readiness, and with hands trembling with excitement Mr.
King lay down flat on the deck, and, reaching over the
side, sawed away at the cable until in two places he had
laid bare the copper vein along which the pulses of the
Old World and the New beat in common. At two
points a couple of feet apart he attached the wires lead-
ing into the cabin to the core of the cable. Then, rising
to his knees, he took from the boatswain's hands a ship's
axe, and, turning for a moment with a faint smile to
Tate, who was standing by as pale as a ghost, he lifted
the axe, poised it for a moment to take accurate aim, and
let it fall gently on the center of the copper wire, cutting
it clean in two. The two loose ends of the cable, being
firmly lashed by the chains, had hardly given an inch.
Having satisfied himself that all was right. King sprang
to his feet and hurried below, followed by Tate and the
skipper, the first officer remaining on deck to keep guard
over the strange fish.

The scene in the cabin to which the three men rapidly

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LOVE AND LIG^TKINQ. 203

aaade their way was a carioos one. It was a room usually
(Xmsecrated to the ladies' use when Tate took his friends
ixt pleasure trips, but now one end of it was blocked up
with a score of Siemens-Halske batteries^ stacked one
iqwn another, with their forty wires twisted together
and running under the table. The table-top was a mass
of brass and ebony — ^twenty or thirty black keys all in a
^w, each surrounded by its little group of satellites in
the shape of brass binding-screws. At one end of it
B^ood a round, black instrument like a miniature light-
house ; from a lamp in the middle a thin finger of bright
light pointed across the room, and at the other end a
long, oblong piece of ground-glass was balanced upon a
little pedestal — a mysterious enough apparatus to most
people, no doubt, but not to an electrician like Mr. King,
and still less to Sir William Thompson, who invented it,
fpr the whole arrangement was nothing more than the
familiar mirror galvanometer. The moment King had
^^eached the state-room he had drawn the curtains over
*te port-holes, and by the time the others were well
inside the room he had adjusted several of his screws,
^d was seated at the table before a sheet of paper with a
pencil in his hand, intently watching the little finger of
%ht dancing backward and forward upon the oblong glass.

" What is it ? " asked Tate, under his breath.

For a few moments the electrician made no reply,
then he read oflE slowly: ^^ Speaking — Sheffield — yester-
day — Ramddiph — ChurchUZ — dedaa^ed — time — come —

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204 LOYE AND LIGHTmNa.

when — absolutely — necessary— Bound — JkeaUhy---p6VUioci,
— doctrines — he— placed — hefore — dectors^^

" Press message going through. Ah, we're all right ;
here comes a late stock message," and he read oat a
dozen quotations of well-known stocks and thdr prices
in New York, which were being cabled to a great city
broker. *^In one minute now, sir," he added, turning
to Tate, who at once unbuttoned his coat, and, putting
his hand into his breast-pocket, produced a sheet of note-
paper, which he unfolded and laid upon the table before
King. A moment after, the electrician snapped a switch
with his left hand, and began to work rapidly the krge
Morse key upon which his right hand had been lying.
For several minutes nothing was heard in the cabin ex-
cept the monotonous tick, tick-tick of the lever.

This is what the sounds meant to the man who read
them o£t on the French coast, and passed them on to an
oflSee almost touching the Bank of England :

" New York, 1.35 p. m. Financial news of most startling char-
acter jQst telegraphed from West. Treasurer of Whatbosb and
allied rcdlroads, man of high reputation, implicitly trosted by all
parties, fled Canada last night. Private investigation his accounts
to-daj shows not only enormous defalcations bnt astounding condi-
tion Whatbosh Railroad itself, which may be considered practically
insolvent. This state things been concealed by treasurer for long
period in order to extricate himself from private speculations. Re-
ceipt this news has caused panic in Wall Street. Whatbosh dropped
twenty-five in half hour. Holders getting out at any price. Two
members Stock Exchange Committee leave to-night for West.

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LOV£ AND LIGHTNING. 205

t|^8 entirelj unexpected, created general consternation. Effect
'«a«took8 be much worse to-morrow."

"Tliat's all," said Mr. King, as lie snapped the switeli
iick to its first position.

"What, is it done?" exclaimed Tate, astounded.

** All done,'^ was the reply; " I put it through after
ftiftlast stock message, and now I have just told the Ameri-
to end to ^ repeat last message' — that is, the one he has
ieen sending here while I had cut him off. He will
4ink, you know, that they couldn't understand it, and
v<Hi't suspect anything wrong. Now, the sooner we get
<mt of this the better."

The three men returned instantly to the deck, and
Ifr. King began the difl5cult task of splicing half a dozen
yards of cable to the two severed ends lashed alongside.
It was a long job, and darkness had almost set in before
it was accomplished. At last, however, the cable was
Bound again, and very gently it was lowered down the
side, and then slipped when it was well below the sur-
face. The captain stood by the rail with his eyes fixed
iipou the water, and, the moment a sudden stream of
l>ubbles to the surface told him all was adrift, he wheeled
i^<^tmd and said quickly to the oJBScer standing near him :

"Full speed ahead. Keep her sou'west, half south."

The bell of the electric signal rang loudly in the
engine-room, and the Nirvana was on her way to the blue
skies and smooth waters of the Mediterranean.

In his private state-room below Tate sat motionless,

10

uguzeaoy Google

206 ^ LOYE AND, UGETNINQ.

his hands clinched upon the arms of his easy-chair, and
his eyes gazing absently before him. For the first time
since the inspiration of the lightning had revealed the
element which alone seemed able to overthrow all the
difficulties facing him, he was near breaking down, and
remembered with something of horror the seven years'
transportation to which he had rendered himself liable
by breaking a cable in less than a hnndred fathoms of
water. But no weakness now, he reflected with reUef,
could interfere with the execution of his scheme. His
crew had all been heavily bribed, and he believed their
silence could be depended upon; the cable had been
found, cut, and the bogus message sent, exactly as he
had planned ; Mr. Silk had been carefully instructed to
buy instantly every dollar of Whatbosh Preferred lie
could get, as soon as the long-expected fall in price should
come ; the pretended news had been carefully timed to
reach London so shortly before the closing of the market
as to allow plenty of time to operate, but not enough to
cable to New York for confirmation ; Leslie would be
deceived and would sell largely at once, facing the ruin-
ous loss rather than holding back with the apparent cer-
tainty of still greater loss next day. And from these
reflections Tate's thoughts gradually passed—" so near is
grandeur to our dust" — to an old orchard and^a voice as
musical as running water, and in the soft light of deep
gray eyes be saw the reward of all his desperate scheming
and the fulfillment of his heart's exalted hope.

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LOYE AND UQETNINQ. 207

m.

As the clock of St. JTaines's Palace struck midday on
&e Saturday a fortnight after the flash of lightning had
brought inspiration into Tate's troubled brain, Charles
Leslie waa just throwing the last things into a portman-
teau in bis chambers in Pall Mall. He had packed in
a hurry, and his bedroom was strewn, in the delightful
recklessness of bachelordom, with boots and clothes and
Hnen that he did not want, for Saturday was always a
buty day for him, and rarely indeed did he leave the sor-
did City till a much later hour. As he pushed aside the
curtains at the end of the little passage that separated
bis rooms, and entered rapidly, carrying his packed port-
manteati, no one who had not seen him on 'Change would
bave taken him for a " City man," but rather for an
athletic young university professor, or perhaps for a par-
ticularly studious officer on leave, for his pale, clean-
shaved face and broad forehead, seeming all the paler by
contrast with his black hair and slight mustache, showed
signs of thought rather than the lines and hatchings
drawn by the worry and ceaseless anxiety of the specu-
lator. He knew how to dress, too, and as he stood by
the mantel filling his cigar-case, wearing a tweed suit of
ttie mixture which Cockney tailors call heather, with an
Eastern handkerchief tied in a big knot at his throat, tall
^d stoutly built, few men and fewer women would have
hesitated to pronounce him an unusually fine specimen

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208 LOYE AND LIGHTS ING.

of a man. But Leslie had good reasons for looking his
best to-day, as he took up his hat and coat, and drove off
to Victoria on his way to the heart of Kent.

Hugh Ambridge, Esq., J. P., was a country gentle-
man of the kind which, without being exactly old-fash-
ioned, is becoming rare. His family had owned the same
place and lived on it for generations ; their income had
been small compared with the extent of the land which
went by their name, but until late years it had always
been about the same; a few of their distant relatives
were distinguidied people, and when they chose to renew
the festivities which Ambridge Hall had known when its
bricks were bright red and the big oaks which surrounded
it now were pushing young saplings, the guests esteemed
themselves fortunate, and preserved the occasion in their
memories. The present head of the family was a fine
old gentleman, with gray hair and whiskers and jolly
round face. He always wore a tweed suit till dinner-
time, and he stopped to crack a joke with every man, big
or little, on the country-side, but familiarity with him
bred nothing but respect, and you might have lived for
years among people who had known him all his life,
without hearing an unkind thing about him. For he had
never looked at anybody otherwise than straight in the
eye, he had never told a lie, he had never betrayed a
friend, and he had never said a disrespectful word to a
woman. Perhaps, after all, he was old-fashioned, for the
men and manners of this latest age were not often to

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. LOVE AND UQHTNING. 209

IJB mind. In his case, as in the case of most men who,
l^thoat thanking God for it, are better than their fet
lows, "cherchez la femme*' would have indicated the
Wnrce of his qualities, as those knew well whose memo-
ries went back to the days when young Ambridge and
fcb wife, riding together, were the prettiest and wel-
ewnest sight for ndles round. For years he had been a
widower, loyally and frankly transferring all his love
►Ba the dead to the living — ^his only child Edith, to
Whom in childhood he had been a playmate, in girlhood
companion and friend, and upon whom, in her early
'womanhood, he was now beginning to wait like a lover.
On this Saturday after lunch he had walked over to the
Btables to inspect a horse that had been offered him for
lier use, and he was just passing his hand critically down
•^ animal's fore legs when the rattle of wheels was
ieard, and the dog-cart which he had sent to meet Leslie
drove into the yard. Mr. Ambridge and Leslie were
igood friends, for the older man saw in the younger some-
thing of his own past, and the younger looked up to the
older with the hope that as years passed he might grow
to resemble him more and more.

" Hallo, Leslie ! " cried Mr. Ambridge heartily ; " glad
to see yon, my boy — ^glad to see you ! "

" Thank you, sir," said Leslie, jumping to the ground
5tnd grasping the big hand of his host ; " I only just caught
the trainr-very difficult to leave the City so early, you
Imow."

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210 LOVE AND LIGHTNING.

" Pshaw, you young fellows with money on the bran
seem to think f ourpenee wouldn't buy a pint of ale un-
less you spent half the day shouting one another's heads
off. But have you had any lunch ? ^

" Yes, sir, I had something on the way down."

"Well, there's nobody in the house, and I shall be
busy here for an hour, so you'd better take one of the
dogs and the gun that Tve put out for you in the hall
and walk round the spinney. You'll be sure to knock
over a rabbit or two, and perhaps get a bird on the way."
Leslie hesitated a moment, for what reason Mr. Ambridge
guessed perfectly, so he added quietly, " I don't know
where Edith is; I dare say she's walked over to the spin-
ney." LesUe^s hesitation disappeared instantly, and he
turned and crossed the tennis-lawn into the house. A
few minutes later he came out again with a gun under
his arm, and, stopping at the stables to pick up a dog, be
took a short cut to the spinney, through the garden and
down a long path xading by a little swinging gate into
an old orchard.

As he walked across the fields, Leslie looked anx-
iously in all directions. It was not for the rabbits, how-
ever, for he had only brought the gun as an excuse for
going off at once by himself, but rather because the last
time he had been to Ambridge Hall had been the day
in his life to be marked by a red rubric — ^the day which
not to have lived is not to have known the chief thing
that makes men better than beasts, and which nothing,

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LOVE AND LIQHTmNG. 211

' ieitlier years, nor lies, nor tears, can ever efface from the
mind of one to whom it has come in its fuUness. It had
been the day on which Leslie had first known that he
bved, and first believed that he was loved in return.
And lie was now looking with beating heart for Edith
Ambridge, that another meeting might reveal to him
whether it was a fieeting mirage he had seen, or a real
glimpse of green pasturies and still waters. Not that
any words of love had passed between them, or, indeed,
any sign or symptom that conld be told and weighed;
only some of those minutest, impalpable testimonies
which are as heavy as lead in Love's scales. It had been
on the day of a country gathering, and there had been a
dance in the evening at the Hall : but whether it was
that she crept an imperceptible shade closer within his
arm, or whether it had been a touch of the hand, or
whether, again, it had been that subtilest tie of all, the
absolute physical harmony of rhythmic movement in a
perfect waltz, Leslie was fortunate in not being enough
of a psychologist to tell ; but whatever the source of his
knowledge and belief, they were confirmed by one brief
look, exchanged as he and Miss Ambridge said " Good-
night,'' when all the guests had gone. This was all that
had passed between them to make the heart of either
b6at faster at the thought of the other; but it was
^ enough, for if there is one heresy more wrong than an-
other, among all the miserable axioms handed down
from generation to generation to make young hearts un-

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312 LOTS AND LIOETNINO.

trne, it is tlie one whicli tells that love steals in with no
more heralding than a thief in the night, and that they
can not of themselves recognize his presence. Leslie
knew that a communication of an infinite content had
passed between him and his old friend's daughter, and
he looked forward with keenly mingled hope and dread
to tlieir next meeting. It conld not conclude, he was
sure, without confirming or uprooting his own hopes,
and with them the happiness and the worth of his life.
He looked across the fields, however, in vain. Nobody
was visible but a boy scaring crows, and a farm-laborer
mending a gap in the hedge. He reached the spinuey,
and that, too^ seemed deserted; so he leaned his gun
against the gate and strolled down to the side of the
brook running halfway round the wood, and began \^
gather the dainty harebells that grew along its edge. He
was very happy, the flowers were plentiful and seemed
to suit his mood, and he had a large double-handful of
them before he stood upright again. He looked back to
see where he had left his gun, and there, standing smiling
beside it, stood the figure he had been looking for so
eagerly a little while before.

Edith Ambridge was tall and slight, and very fair,
and much riding had made her straight and gracefol.
Her large, pale gray eyes looked out from behind dark
lashes, and the masses of her bright hair had once been
not inaptly likened to " coiled sunshine " by a too enthu-
siastic admirer ; for she had had many admirers, and

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LOVE AND LI&HTNING. 213

almost as many lovers, if the word does not imply reci-
procity; but her heart had found a place for none of
them, and it nsed to be said that she kept a little book
in which she entered the date and circumstances of all
her offers of marriage. How many men fignred in that
undesirable memory, no one knew; everybody of the
neighborlLOod, however, could name half a dozen without
difficulty. As soon as she saw Leslie spring up the bank
Bhe walked toward him, half shy and half stately. One
of her rejected admirers, having nothing to lose, had
once told her miserably that she went through a room
full of company to reach the hostess, ^^ike a peacock
through a barn-yard," and it was really not a bad simile.
Leslie^ at any rate, was so much affected by her approach
that he clean forgot all the formulas of greeting which
he had cunningly prepared to say neither too little nor
too much. He simply took off his hat before he reached
ter, and exclaimed, "Oh, Miss Ambridge, I beg your
pardon for not seeing you before. I have been looking
everywhere for you.''

"I did not think you would come so early, Mr.
Leslie," said the lady with a smile, possibly at her
own tact in conveying at once so little and so much.
" You've been busy," she continued, glancing at Leslie's
flowers.

" Yes," replied Leslie, " Pve been gathering them for
you. They are the sweetest flowers of all to me, and I
like them because so few people care for them and they

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2U LOVE AND LIQHTNINa.

fade 60 soon. Do yon know what thej mean } '' he added
quickly, with a sudden and desperate resolution.

"No/'

" May I tell you?'' he said, in a low voice —

'* * The liarebell, for her stainless aznre hue,

Gaims to be worn by none but those are true.' "

Leslie paused a moment, and then holding out his
bunch of pale flowers, he continued in a voice that trem-
bled in spite of all his efforts to control it, " Will you
take them, Miss Ambridge ? "

Edith Ambridge had heard him with a smile, but it
suddenly faded away at the tone of his last words, and
her eyes fell before his earnest gaze. They had walked
back to the gate by this time, and she leaned upon it
with both hands, and looked away over the fields to the
fast reddening sky in the west. But she made no reply^
and Leslie knew that having said so much he must say
all.

" I ought not to have spoken to you so. Miss Am-
bridge," he said, simply and bravely; "there was some-
thing I should have said first, and if you tell me I ought
not to have spoken at all, I shall ask you to forgive me.
But I can't meet you again as in the old days — ^they seem
far away already. For a year now I have waited for this
moment — ^just to tell you that one word from you will be
all the world to me, that I have tried myself in every
way I know, and that the love that has grown up in my

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LOYE AND LIGHTNmO. 215

heart througli all these happy — ^too happy — days h^re is
the deepest and strongest and best part of my life, and
will last as long as I live. I can't bring myself to say it
— ^it sounds to me like such piesamption — ^but oh, I love
yon with as faithful a love as ever a man has felt. To
be witli you, to hear you speak, to touch your hand — if
I coTild only make you understand what it has been to
me. If you will trust me, my whole life shall be one
loving service. I know what you will say — the City ; but
I like it no better than you. I will give it up. I don't
need to do it for the sake of money, and I will never go
near it again if you will lead me away. My life is in
your hands— -will you direct it? Body and soul I am
yours ; I can't say what I mean, but — ^Will you take my
flowers now ? ''

For a few nioments Edith Ambridge stood motion-
less, gazing absently before her as if the golden clouds
had shaped themselves into an entrancing vision. Then
she turned slowly to Leslie, her sweet eyes filled with all
the splendor of the open heaven she had seen, and held
out her hands. Leslie placed his flowers in them, and
falling upon his knee he kissed them reverently with
bowed head, " Edith, my love— my love 1 "

There was no more brook and spinney, no more green
field and golden sky. Nature had added to her picture
the one element without which, as a wonderful passage
of Heine puts it, water is but wet, and wood flt for burn-
ing. Two more hearts had found the one best thing life

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216 LOVE AND LIGHTNING.

can give, and the eternal transformation liad taken plaee
again.

In the eyening half a dozen men who had been at a
dinner-party at Ambridge Hall were playing ti last game
at billiards. Leslie had only just come np-Btair», and had
tried in vain to escape taking a cne. Old Mr. Ambridge
was at his merriest, for he was happy at what had hap-
pened in his library jnst before dinner, and every time
he passed Leslie he gave him a playful dig with his
finger or whispered a word or two in his ear. " Come,
Leslie," he exclaimed at last, with a comical smile,
"cheer np, my boy; how serious you are to-night. Has
sometlung gone wrong with the * bulls ' to-day % "

"No, sir," replied Leslie, taking up the joke. "One
* bull,' at least, has made his fortune to^ay, to my knowl-
edge."

"Now, Leslie," exclaimed a sporting parson of the
neighborhood, as Leslie was preparing to make a diffi-
cult stroke, " I'll wager you a box of cigars you don't
score."

"All right," replied Leslie, bending over the table.
As he spoke a servant quietly opened the door and
glanced round the room. He went across to speak to
Leslie, but, seeing the latter about to make % shot, he
waited behind him.

" Told you so ! " cried the parson, when the stroke
proved a bad miss. "Cabafias, please." Leslie smiled

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LOVE AND LIGHTNING. 217

and turned away from the table. As he did so, the serv-
ant stepped forward.

" A telegram for you, sir."

Leslie picked it up, and, with a hasty " Excuse me *'
to his host, tore open the envelope and glanced at the
pink sheet. He read it intently for a minute, then
folded it slowly and put it in his pocket. He had turned
pale, and a strange look had come into his face, but no^
body noticed it except Mr. Ambridge.

" What is it, Leslie ? " he said in a low voice. "Noth-
ing bad?"

*^I hardly know," replied Leslie. Then in a louder
tone he added, "Would you mind taking my cue foria
few minutes, Mr. Ambridge ? I think I must send an
answer to this.''

He left the room and went down-stairs to the library.
As soon as he was alone he took out the message again
and read it carefully. It was from his chief clerk, and
ran as follows :

"Message from New York annonnces extensive defalcations
and flight of treasurer Wbatbosh Railroad. Boad said to be insol-
Tent. Reports great consternation in Wall Street Preferred
stock dropped twenty-five in half hour. In your absence could do
nothing."

Leslie read this message many times, then he turned
quickly and rang the bell. "Tell the housekeeper I
should like to see her for a moment at once, if possible,"
he said to the servant who answered it. " Will you have

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218 LOVE AND LIQETNINQ.

the kindness, Mrs. Herring/' he said, when that person
arrived in itome trepidation, ^^to find out if I can see
Miss Ambridge again to-night for a few minntes? It is
most important that I should do so, as I shall he com-
pelled to leave the Hall very early in the morning."

Mrs. Herring had a shrewd suspicion of the state of
things between her young mistress and the handsome
gentleman who came so often from London, and this
rather astonishing request confirmed everything. "Cer-
tainly, sir,'' she said, and disappeared.

Five minutes afterward Edith Ambridge entered the
library, her eyes wide open with surprise and a smile of
greeting for her lover all ready to break over her face.
But a glance at him dispelled it instantly.

" "Why — oh, Charles, what has happened ? ''

Leslie took her hand, and turning away his face from
her gaze, he said in a hoarse voice, ^' I sent for you, dear,
to tell you something that must not be put oflf. Please
believe that what I am going to say is right and best,
however hard it may seem. I am ruined. A telegram
has just come telling me so, practically. Life is to begin
all over again for me, and I shall be chained to an oflSoe
in the City for many years, even if the best happens. I
can not 'ask you to share such a life as I must lead— I
love you too well. That's all — forgive me for speaking
so — it will be easier to part now than later — God bless
you for all—" but a great sob choked him here, and he
turned away and buried his face in his hands.

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LOYE AND LIQHTNINO. 219

For a moment Edith looked at him in silence. Then

she laid her hands on his shonlders and said softly,

**Xook at me, love." Leslie raised his head and saw that

her great eyes were running over with tears, bnt that her

whole face was L'ghted up by a proud smile. " In joy,

but not in sorrow?" she said slowly. "In success, but

not in misfortune ? In better, bnt not in worse ? It is

you that I love— what else do I know ? " And closing

her arms she drew him tenderly to her, till his head was

pillowed upon her breast. Then she whispered, as she

kissed his pale forehead, "No, my love, I will not let

you go."

rv.

Little remains to tell. Early the next morning, Sun-
day, Leslie's chief clerk arrived at Ambridge Hall. Les-
lie himself had not slept at all during the night, and was
down-stairs in a few minntes after the man's arrival had
been announced to him. His clerk was standing in the
recessed window of the library, looking out into the
garden, and as Leslie entered hurriedly, pale from the
shock he had received and lack of sleep, he turned and
said cheerily, " Good-morning, sir ; yon must haye had a
bad quarter of an honr yesterday."

" Yesterday ? " replied Leslie, in a low voice ; " what
do yon mean t "

" Why, when yon got my telegram abont Whatbosh
Preferred. Bnt it's all right, sir. That's what I've come
to tell yon. Nothing has really happened."

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230 LOYE AND LIGHTNING.

Leslie drew a long breath, and steadied himself
against the table. " Tell me, has there been no panic %
I donH understand."

"Oh, yes," replied the clerk, with the importance
that the possession of a piece of news always confers,
" there was a very lively time in Americans just before
the market closed. I was getting ready to go home,
when a man from Jones Brothers mshed into the ofSce,
and told me they had just got a cable telling them thsLt
the Whatbosh Kailroad had been discovered to be insolv-
ent, and the preferred stock had fallen twenty-five points
in New York. Well, you may imagine my feelings. Of
course, in your absence I could do nothing, but I went
across the way, and for a quarter of an hour there was such
a time in Americans as I never saw in my life. As soon
as I could get away afterward -I cabled to New York
about it, and a dozen others did the same thing. I waited
at the office for a reply, but it didn't come until the tele-
graph-office here had closed, and there was no train by
which I could reach you that night. The whole stoiy,"
he went on, unbuttoning his coat and producing a bundle
of papers from his pocket, " is a fraud. There's been no
discovery in New York, and Whatbosh Preferred went
up two points in Wall Street yesterday ; but nobody knows
yet how the report got over here. Some scoundrelly
American dodge, I'll be bound. This is the reply I got
from New York."

"All right," said Leslie, with a strange tremor in his

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LOVE AND LIGSTNINa. 221

, verice : " never mind that now ; PU talk it over with you
later. "Will you ring and ask them to give you some
breakfast ? " And he oi>ened the long window and passed
out into the fresh morning air.

An hour later Edith Ambridge woke to find upon her
pillow a handful of harebells vnth the dew still on them,
and a little note containing these words :

" Yesterday's alarm was all false. You alone were true, my brave
sweet love.'*

She kissed the words and fell asleep again, and when
her maid entered a second time she found her mistress
still sleeping sweetly, with the pale blue flowers pressed
to her lips.

As for Tate, he found a telegram waiting for him at
the first port at which the Nirvana touched after heading
south, summoning him instantly to London. But before
he reached there he knew all. Leslie's accidental absence
had saved him from the fatal sale upon which Tate had
counted, and the only effect of the message the latter
had dispatched with so much ingenuity and danger had
been to prove to his rival the depth of the love he had
won. Iklr. Silk, however, had obeyed orders like a sol-
dier, and had bonght heavily right and left ; but out of
eight who had sold, five could not bear the enormous loss
they had to meet immediately, and failed to meet their
engagements. Forced to settle, Tate himself lost every

Digitized by Google

LOYE AND LIGHTNING.

penny he had in the world, and after all the hammer fell
before his name. The secret of the lightning, however,
has never been divulged, and the advertisements of a
broker with an artificially alliterative name appearing now
constantly in the papers, and inviting the unwary to join
all kinds of attractive syndicates and operations, are Tate's
attempts, aided to the last by faithful old Silk, to retrieve
at least enough of a position to give him leisure to spend
a day in the country occasionally, and yield himself up
to day-dreams of what he still believes might well have
been.

This was tlio last story told on board the Bavaria, Earljr next
morning a steamer was sighted off the port bow, which proved to
be one of the largest vessels of a rival line. In response to signals
for assistance she soon drew up alongside, and the first officer of the
Bavaria boarded her to negotiate terms for towing. After some
time had been spent in reconciling the views of the two command-
ers, an agreement was made, and an honr later the Bavaria was
once more making her way rapidly toward Ifew York. It would be
of little interest to narrate in detail all that happened while the ships
were in company. Tlw experience was a novel and interesting one
to the passengers, but its only relation to the present narrative lies
in the fact that it effectnally put a stop to the gatherings of the little
party belonging to the Captain's table. Nothing occurred to cause
further delay, and at breakfast on the third day the welcome word
went round the tables that the Hook had been passed at dayliglit.
At lunch-time the passengers were eiyoying the beautiful sail up
New York harbor, and after that it was not long before the party
disappeared from each other's sight in the |aws of the Custom
House, with many a hearty shake of the hand, and many a good

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r^"

LOYE AND LIGHTNINO. 223

"n^ish and congratnlation that delaj had heen tempered hj such
memorable pleasures. The Eminent Tragedian and Beatrice pro^
ceeded to f re^ triumphs ; the Novelist gladdened the heart of his
family and the pleasare-loving society of Newport for a while ; the
Bomancer went West and squatted, and every one who loves good
reading knows the delightful things that happened to him there ;
the Editor and the Critic and the rest followed duty and pleasure
as fortune gave them opportunity : hut the Tales in Mid-Ocean still
remain luique in the memory of all. To one of the party has it at
last been permitted to gather them together with a few words of
his own for a wider circle.

THE END.

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Maps of New York and Vieinity* New edition joit ready. Large
ilustrateHi cover. Price, T6 cents*

TLETON & CO,, Publiihers, 1, S, k fi Bofnd Strw^f lw'Yi9i?8 ^